


A Beast of Burden

by concerningwolves



Series: the fate the water gave us [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Arthur Pendragon Has Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Lives (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Crossover, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, I tried to delecately blend respective canons but they got tangled and now I've lost control, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Prophecy, Slow Burn, and bona-fide insults, but there will be plenty of shenanigans, courtesy of merlin, frenemies to lovers, so we're not at the burning part of slow burn yet, they're all eleven or twelve in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-08-27 19:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concerningwolves/pseuds/concerningwolves
Summary: All Merlin has ever wanted is to make sense of the power that bubbles beneath his skin — and then Albus Dumbledore comes into his life. The answers, Dumbledore claims, lie within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But Merlin soon learns he has bitten off more than he can chew.▫▫▫▫Or:Merlin would find it a hell of a lot easier to navigate reincarnation, dark wizards, and House rivalries if he could stop worrying about ArthurbloodyPendragon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrucioAndCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrucioAndCoffee/gifts).



> I have zero self-control so this fanfic is now a Thing. Gifted to the lovely crucioandcoffee, whose dedication to their fanfics has been massively inspiring and who I blame for dragging me down into Niche Ship Hell.

 

 

Merlin froze with one hand on the door handle. There were voices — three of them, low and murmuring over the chink of teacups. As anxiety mounted in Merlin's chest, so did the strange power that lurked just below his skin. 

Merlin was hesitant about opening the door; he turned the lock as quietly as he could and dropped his keys into his pocket. Hunith's voice he recognised—although why she was home from work early, Merlin couldn't say—and the other belonged to Gaius. It was the third one that Merlin didn't recognise. 

The broken floorboard under the door-mat creaked. 

"That you, Merlin?" Hunith called. Merlin winced.  

The tableau that greeted Merlin in the tiny kitchen was almost normal: Gaius sat at the table and Hunith leant against the counter, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. The strangeness came solely from a man in long robes with the most impressive beard that Merlin had ever seen. He was sipping a hot chocolate, and the steam fogged up his antiquated half-moon specs. 

"This is Professor Dumbledore," Hunith said. "He's the headmaster at Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizards."

"Okay." Merlin nodded.  He was reasonably sure that he should be feeling surprised, maybe even shocked. But his brain decided to skip straight over Hunith's words and focus on making a cup of tea. Because that was normal. That made sense. 

"Merlin, did you hear that?" Gaius' tone was tentative. Merlin nodded as he refilled the kettle.

"Why don't I do that for you, my boy? " The stranger asked. The kettle was promptly whisked from Merlins hands by an invisible force and set on to boil. A mug on the draining board cleaned itself, floated over to the counter and scooped up a teabag from the caddy on its way. Merlin whirled around to face Dumbledore, open-mouthed and trembling. Dumbledore, with the most patient of smiles, winked at Merlin over the top of his spectacles. "Milk?" He enquired mildly.

Merlin couldn't speak. Thankfully, Hunith came to his rescue. "Not for Merlin, he likes it black."

The mug floated over to the table and dropped in place with a small thud.

"Thank you," Merlin said weakly. He sank into his chair. Slowly, slowly, a switch in the back of his mind clicked into place. "You're doing magic!"

"Indeed." Dumbledore took a long sip of his hot chocolate.

Indignation snarled in the pit of Merlin's stomach. For years, Merlin had been cycling to see Gaius every Friday evening, when all his peers were playing video games or wreaking havoc around the estate, and every Friday he would listen to the old psychologist explain to him how to hide his...  _uniqueness_. 

Merlins mouth went completely dry. "Why?" It was Gaius that Merlin that spoke to, his hands clenched into fists.

"Merlin…" But Gaius didn't seem to have anything to say for himself. Merlin turned instead to Dumbledore.

"You said there's a school? With children like me?" His voice shook. Elation and hurt and anxiety bubbled up inside him. Merlin thought that he might burst.

"Not like you, I suspect." Dumbledore said, "But witches and wizards, yes."

Anticipation made it hard to speak. "Can we… Mum, can we afford it?"

Huniths face broke out in a broad smile. "We don't have to pay a penny, cariad." She took his clammy her hand in her warm one. "Not a single one." And the joy on her face was enough to make Merlin forget everything else.

"Here's your letter. You'll find everything you need to know." Dumbledore withdrew an envelope from his robes and gave it to Merlin. "I look forward to seeing you when term begins." The headmaster rose from his place with a shine in his eyes that set Merlin on edge, although he couldn't say why. As Dumbledore turned to leave, the corner of his robes snagged on Merlin's cup. 

And the power burst through Merlin's skin. 

Cup and contents froze in mid-air, as did the rest of the kitchen. Merlin pushed out, unthinking, determined not to allow his treasured Doctor Who mug to hit the kitchen flagstones. 

With a sigh of relief, Time came unstuck. Tea sloshed over the floor, but the cup was safe, and the tightness had vanished from Merlin's chest. 

Dumbledore blinked, looked down at his soaked shoes, and laughed. Something about his expression, genuinely surprised though it was, made Merlin suspect that nothing about that little slip had been an accident.

"Well, you did say that the boy had promise," Dumbledore said to Gaius as he magicked away the mess with a flick of his wand.

Merlin noticed that Gaius' smile was strained. 

"Goodbye, Merlin." Dumbledore gave a stately incline of his head and vanished.

* * *

The days running down to the Summer break and the weeks that followed were the longest of Merlin's short life. Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different. Merlin lived in a state of constant suspense until the moment his feet landed on the platform at King's Cross. 

Gaius was waiting for them. Merlins stomach twisted at the sight of him.

"Are you ready?" Gaius asked, and Merlin nodded without looking at him. He trailed just behind the adults through the crowded streets until they stopped in front of a pub that Merlin could have sworn wasn't there when he looked for it. Hunith's hand curled around Merlins as they pushed inside.

She needn't have worried.

Nobody in the pub had eyes for the three newcomers. They were all crowded around a boy of Merlin's age and a giant of a man as if the skinny lad held the key to the holy grail. Gaius ushered Merlin through to the back, where he tapped a brick in the wall. Merlin watched in amazement as the bricks peeled away to form an archway, easily big enough for all three of them to walk abreast.

For a moment, the street they found themselves on looked just like any other London road: old, quaint, bustling. 

"Diagon Alley," Gaius said, and the illusion shattered. A gaggle of teenagers traipsed past with broomsticks tucked under their arms, and an animated paper swan swooped after them. Merlin felt dizzy with the strangeness of it all. 

"Mum…"

"I know."

"It's... It's..."

"I know."

Hunith and Merlin grinned at one another.

Their first stop was Ollivander's; a shop which, according to Gaius, sold wands. Real wands. Merlin thought that his eyes were going to burst out of his head. 

The boy from the Leaky Cauldron was leaving the shop as Merlin went in. Their shoulders brushed. Merlin was left momentarily without breath. His head spun, and electricity needled his skin, the force of it hitting him like ice water on a hot afternoon. He whirled to see if the boy had noticed anything, but he was already gone. 

"Are you alright?" Hunith gently touched his shoulder. Merlin nodded mutely. He didn't trust himself to speak just then. 

"Hm." Olivander studied Merlin for an uncomfortably long time, and finally opened a box with a slender black wand inside it. "Try this one."

Merlin held it in his hand. Nothing happened. Ollivander promptly snatched it away and shoved another one into Merlin's chest. 

 A dozen more wands passed through Merlin's grasp, before Ollivander finally stepped away and wrinkled his nose.

"Not often I have two tricky customers in one day. Curious..." He turned back to study the shelves of wands.

"Do I really need one?" Merlin asked, disliking the thought of causing a problem for the old man. Ollivander turned around faster than Merlin could have given him credit for. His mouth worked furiously, but no sound came out. Merlin and Hunith shared a look. "I mean, it's just that I've never needed one before. I've always done magic by thinking about it, can't I just keep on doing that?"

"My boy, a wizard must have a wand!" Ollivander had gone a frightening shade of pale. "Do it without a wand, without a-- Unheard of. No. There must be one." and so saying, Ollivander disappeared through the back of the shop.

"I don't think he liked that very much," Hunith remarked wryly. Merlin bit his bottom lip.

Something hit Merlin's foot. He looked down and saw that one of the boxes from behind the counter had fallen off. The box quivered when Merlin picked it up and shook even harder when he put it down.

"Do I... open it?" Merlin looked to Hunith for guidance.

"I would guess so."

The wand inside was a red colour, the handle carved into the head of a python with its hood spread. Its eyes burned with a frightening intelligence for something made of wood. Merlin held it as Ollivander had shown him, gingerly at first and then with more confidence. The python lay flat against the inside of his wrist as if it had been made to fit there and the wood thrummed with dangerous, vibrant magic.

A squeak from behind Merlin brought him out of his reverie.

"That's not for sale!" Ollivander held out a hand, but Merlin found that he was unable to let go. The serpent head was so snug and the grooves in the wood were perfect for his slender fingers. Warmth climbed up his wrist.

"But I think it chose me." Merlin took a nervous step back. He tightened his grasp.

"Yes, yes." Ollivander's face crumpled. "The wand often chooses the wizard, although it has some cheek."

"Cheek?"

"It's not one of mine. A colleague passed it on to me for inspection." Ollivander shuffled closer, but slowly--as if afraid that the snake might bite him. "You see, the wood itself is fairly common. Red oak, I use it myself. But the core..." He shook his head in disapproval. "That I cannot fathom. I use only Pheonix, dragon heartstring or unicorn hair, for most others are poor substitutes. This one has a core that I do not know, but I wish I did."

Merlin, who was still trying to catch up to the fact that unicorns existed, merely nodded. 

"A very strong core, I must add. Most noble. I could not bend it to my will, and I've worked with difficult wands my entire life." Ollivander bustled around replacing wands as he spoke. "Cunning, quick, and in possession of a magic the likes of which I have never encountered." 

"An odd wand for an odd boy." Hunith grinned at Merlin as she withdrew the pouch. Ollivander saw this and shook his head. 

"No! This wand is not my work, and I'm not at liberty to sell it. So..." He shook out a brown paper bag and held it open as Merlin put his new wand in the bag. "You must take it." and maybe it was a trick of the light, but Merlin could have sworn that Ollivander winked. 

* * *

 

 "And he just gave it to you?" Gaius asked in a low voice, careful not to be overheard by the other patrons in the ice cream parlor. The low afternoon sunlight barely reached them where they sat at the very back, trying to make their ice creams last as long as possible until Hunith returned. 

Gaius had Merlin's new wand balanced between his fingertips. His glasses were perched on his nose, although they were a pair that Merlin had never seen before. These were glazed in the manner of a fish's eye, and the lenses shone with their own light. Gaius' eyes looked unnaturally sharp behind them. 

"He said it wasn't his." Merlin shrugged. 

"Excellent workmanship though." Gaius mused. "You see here, around the edge of the python's hood, this is most unusual. It appears to be an ancient script known as Ogham, used by the Druids. Very powerful wizards and witches they were--but a legend now, I fear. Some argue that they weren't true sorcerers at all." 

"Can you read it?" Merlin leaned forward to see for himself, but the markings made no sense to him. Gaius pushed his glasses back up his nose with a hum. 

"Perhaps." Gaius carefully set the wand down and took a pen from his breast pocket. Using a napkin, he copied out the script and folded it away with his glasses in their case. He said nothing else. 

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" Merlin asked once the silence had gone on far too long. It was obvious, no need to make it a question, but Merlin got the sense that the topic was a sensitive one. 

Gaius took a deep breath. "Yes."

"But you're a doctor." Merlin looked up in time to see regret rush across Gaius' face. He set down his spoon. The conversation suddenly felt very serious.

 "There's a lot for you to learn, Merlin, and a lot that I'm not proud of." Gaius slid Merlin's wand back across the table. "I only ever wanted to protect you."

Merlin stared around himself, at the empty bowls that whisked themselves back behind the counter and the girl with an owl on her shoulder writing at another table; at _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ open on an entry about bowtruckles, the cauldron full of his supplies, the new robes... And then back to Gaius, who looked older than Merlin had ever realised. Old and slow and afraid.

"You're wrong. Professor Dumbledore wants me to use my talents, Gaius. All you've ever done is taught me how to hide them." 

"Merlin--" Gaius broke off as Hunith came through the door. 

"All good to go?" Hunith smiled. Merlin tore his gaze away from Gaius. 

"Yes," he said. "There's nothing else I need here." 

* * *

Merlin didn't see Gaius again that summer, but three days before he was due to catch the Hogwarts Express, an owl arrived at his bedroom window with a letter in its beak. Inside was the napkin on which Gaius had copied the script, and a second piece of paper bearing a single line in Gaius' neat handwriting. 

> _Be strong, for I am the Beast of Burden_

 On his bedside table, Merlin's wand emitted a shrill, blood-curdling keen. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your encouragement! I haven't had a chance to reply to all the comments yet, but I've seen them and each one has warmed my heart. There's no rush like seeing your thoughts :)

 

 

Merlin and his mum followed Dumbledore's instructions down to the letter, but still, _still,_ Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters eluded them. The anxious part of Merlin's brain kept insisting that this was the punchline to an elaborate hoax and any minute, a camera crew led by Albus Dumbledore himself would burst out of the crowd. Merlin was even starting to think that might be preferable to standing around on a busy station like a couple of hopeless lemons. 

"We've plenty of time." Hunith lightly cuffed Merlin's ear and pulled his bitten fingers away from his mouth. "So stop nibbling, and help me find a wizard to follow." 

Merlin glanced around nervously and caught himself wishing that Gaius was with them. But, Merlin reminded himself, if Gaius had his way, Merlin wouldn't be here at all. 

A man and his daughter hurried past. The man was pushing a luggage trolley, not unlike the one that Hunith was wielding, and the girl carried a cage containing the smallest owl that Merlin had ever seen. As Merlin stared, the dragon-shaped clasp holding up the girl's mass of curls gave a little shiver and snapped at a flyaway lock of hair.  

"There!" Hunith had seen them too. She lunged into the crowd and Merlin ran to catch up, throwing out his apologies as people parted to let him through. He drew up alongside them in time to hear the introduce himself as Thomas Smith. 

"—But Tom, please. This is Gwen." Tom placed a proud arm around his daughter's shoulder. He turned his smile on Merlin "And you must be a Muggle-born like me. I remember how overwhelming it was my first time." 

Merlin nodded mutely. _Muggle._ It sounded like a rude word. 

"The platform's right ahead of us," he said. "I'll go first with your mum, so you can see how it's done." 

Merlin watched, tongue-tied by the kindness of this stranger, as Hunith and Tom strolled towards the wall. A group of ordinary people doing ordinary things hurried past—and then the adults were gone. 

"Did they..." Merlin gestured helplessly at the wall. 

Gwen nodded. "Brilliant, isn't it?" 

"Race you through?" Maybe it was the nerves, maybe it was the sheer impossibility of it all, but Merlin had the devil in him. He felt reckless. 

And apparently, Gwen did too. 

Merlin began to count. "One, two—" 

Gwen was off half a beat before Merlin. The two of them stumbled laughing into the hidden platform. Gwen's owl let an impressively indignant noise as Merlin tripped against the cage. He would have gone flying had Gwen not grabbed the back of his jumper. She was breathless and looked as giddy as Merlin felt. 

"You owe Eagle a mouse now." Gwen grinned. 

"You called your owl Eagle?" 

Gwen's face fell. "It's silly, I know, but I named her when I was seven and... Why're you laughing?" 

"I once had a goldfish called Shark." Merlin bit the inside of his cheek as Gwen let out a startling burst of laughter. 

Hunith broke into their little bubble. "Two kindred spirits, eh?" 

Hunith’s eyes shone, but she wasn’t looking at Merlin or Gwen. She stared at the crowd; at the train, the students, the parents...

"Oh, Merlin.  It's all so... So—" 

"Real?" Merlin laughed. Hunith swept him into a hug, all strong arms and the lingering smell of hospital that never left her. Merlin held on until he felt her shake around him.  "Mum?" 

"I wish your father could see you now," Hunith whispered into Merlin's hair. He barely heard her over the deep rumble of the train's engines, but the words struck him, deep and bittersweet, all the same. Hunith never talked about Merlin's father. 

"You're enough." Merlin pressed his forehead against hers, standing on tip-toe to reach. Hunith let out a watery laugh. 

"I'm glad you think so, cariad." She drew away and tried to neaten Merlin's hair.  It remained stubbornly messy. "Go on now. You wouldn't want to be late for your first ride to magic school." 

Merlin stepped backwards reluctantly. The platform suddenly felt very long and full of strangers. 

“You can come with me if you like?” Said Gwen. Merlin nodded in relief.

On their way along the train, they were joined by a boy with curly blonde hair who had already changed into his school robes. Gwen introduced him as Leon, a second year and close family friend. 

“And this is Gawain and Arthur,” Leon said as he led the way to a compartment that was already half-full. Merlin had never been shy, but the sight of so many fellow witches and wizards inspired a nervousness in him the likes of which he had never know.

"Merlin?" Gawain raised an eyebrow and Merlin opened his mouth to say that all the jokes had already been made, but Gawain surprised him. "Oh, _mate_! I had a cousin called Merlin, always reckoned it was either a very lucky name to have or an awful one. For a wizard, I mean." 

“Thanks?”

“Don’t mind him, he says the first thing that pops into his head,” said a girl in the far corner without looking up from her newspaper. She could only have been a year older than the rest of them, but she already held herself with the confidence of an adult.

Or, Merlin thought, like a little girl who had forced herself to grow up. It was a look he had seen in pictures of his mum as a child; the scrawny little Welsh orphan with the twin braids and serious, steely eyes.

After a beat of silence, Leon said, “That’s Morgana. Should I take your suitcase?”

Merlin remembered where he was and awkwardly took a seat beside Gwen. The conversation turned to speculate which Hogwarts House someone called Harry Potter might be in. Merlin extracted his sketchbook and a stub of charcoal from his rucksack, glad for the normality them. 

 Arthur, unfortunately, had other plans. 

"What house do you think you'll be in?" 

Merlin looked up from Gwen's owl. "What?" 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Houses. I'm going to be Gryffindor. I don't think I could bear it if I got put in Slytherin." 

"I'm going to ignore that," Morgana said, "After all, brother _dear,_ I know you didn't really mean it." She looked up then, and the eyes that fixed on Arthur from behind large glasses were chilling.

Arthur flushed. "Look, you're not like — and obviously, I didn't mean that—" he broke off and turned back to Merlin instead. "Anyway, I was talking to cotton-ears here." 

Merlin hesitated. He had read

_(made an attempt at reading)._

_Hogwarts, A History_. Some of it had even stayed in his head. Mostly the bits about everyone contributing brains to make a hat. But he didn’t know enough to answer the question, and Arthur—who managed to have a swagger about him even while sitting down—reminded him of the boys who went off to City schools and returned to Ealdor puffed up like birds of paradise. Merlin bristled in the face of all that arrogance.

"Doesn't matter to me." Merlin shrugged. Arthur looked momentarily lost for words. 

"But everyone cares about their houses!" Arthur was starting to look at Merlin as if he'd grown another head. "I mean everyone knows that Gryffindors are bravest,  Ravenclaws are always smart, Hufflepuffs are sort of pushovers and Slytherins are—" a careful glance at Morgana. "... Ambitious." 

"Sounds a bit shallow to me," Merlin said, starting to enjoy himself. Leon was staring at the wall to hide a smile. "Or maybe you're just a prat about it. I honestly can't tell." 

"Yeah, Arthur." Gawain snorted. "Maybe you're just a prat." 

Morgana clapped her hands in delight. She was grinning like a cat. “I like this one. I’ll be keeping him.”

Everyone burst into laughter.

Their compartment eventually drifted into light chatter. Merlin learned that Morgana was Arthur’s half-sister

_(“The worst-kept secret that everyone knows, and everyone pretends not to know,” said Morgana and rolled her eyes when Arthur protested.)_

and that the others all had some sort of relationship with one another, even if it was only tangential. Words like _pure-blood_ and _half-blood_ and _muggle-born_ were thrown around. Gwen, as it turned out, had been raised mainly in the so-called Muggle world. Tom made jewellery, and although he spelled some of it, like Gwen’s hair clasp, he ran an ordinary little shop in Chichester. After the death of Gwen’s pureblood mother, Tom had apparently felt unable to remain among magical society. Merlin didn’t blame him, and he told Gwen so. He also told Gwen that his father had died

_(vanished, run away, been arrested, whatever. Merlin still didn’t have a dad.)_

before he was born.

“Maybe your dad was a wizard?” Gwen nudged him. Merlin laughed, but the sound was edged with unease.

“Nah, I reckon mum would’ve known if he was,” he said and tried to ignore the fact that he was talking utter bollocks. The conversation didn’t last long after that.

A bushy-haired girl came in search of an escaped toad. Eventually, Merlin returned to drawing Eagle, who had fallen asleep with her head under one wing. And for a while, Merlin forgot that everything was magic.

 

Until they arrived at Hogwarts.

Herded along with the rest of the First Years, (Morgana and Leon disappeared into some carriages), Merlin got into a boat with the giant and the boy from the Leaky Cauldron. The air was alight with humming nerves.

“I’m Merlin Elised,” Merlin said to the boy because there didn’t seem to be anything else he _could_ say to break the silence. When the boy didn’t give his name in return, Merlin stuck out an awkward, clammy hand. “And you’re...?”

“Harry,” said Harry, and his face lit up like Merlin had told him he was going to the moon.

(but what more could the moon offer them? Hogwarts had a black lake that mirrored the stars and boats that didn’t need anyone to steer them and carriages without horses, it was magic, all magic, and the moon was just a rock)

Hagrid found the missing toad. Neville took it as if the little creature was the most precious thing in the world. Squeezed onto the bench on his other side, Gwen grabbed Merlin’s hand. Her face was full of the same mixture of fear and awe that Merlin felt.

And then, when Merlin thought that nothing else could possibly surprise him, the Castle came into view. It took his breath away.

The journey to the Great Hall was a blur. At some point, Merlin's brain stopped processing all the strangeness and focused instead on counting cracks in the flagstones. Gwen held onto his sleeve or Merlin held onto hers, or they held one another—the details were unimportant. They just needed the familiarity as the arches of the castle swallowed up the line of whispering, shaking First Years.

"I don't care about houses either," she said in a low whisper as the severe, grey-haired witch herded their group into a small room and told to get into alphabetical order. "and I’m glad you said it. Not many people do." 

Merlin was too choked up to answer, but he squeezed her hand as she left and hoped that his smile would speak for itself. 

All too soon Professor McGonagall called for _Elised, Merlin._ He approached the stool with no idea what to expect, wishing he had asked Gwen how the sorting worked. 

The hat settled easily on Merlin's large ears. He held his breath. 

 _Most intriguing,_ said a voice. Merlin stifled a yelp of surprise. _What a lot of options. Any ideas?_

Merlin's brain was in too much of a scramble to make a reply. 

 _Well,_ _that rules out Ravenclaw,_ the hat said wryly. It occurred to Merlin a moment later that he should be offended, although he wasn't sure why. _Although I see raw talent—and plenty of tenacity, perhaps even bravery if given the right cause._

 _Thanks? I think?_ Merlin frowned. 

 _But no, no I see it now_ , and the voice inside Merlin's head boomed out into the Hall:

 "SLYTHERIN!" 

On weak legs, Merlin stumbled down to the Slytherin table where Morgana made sure he got a seat at her side. 

"Excellent." Morgana patted Merlin on the shoulder. 

"You think so?" Merlin was breathless. Morgana nodded. 

"I know so," she said. "The first Merlin was a Slytherin, you know?" 

Arthur went to Gryffindor, as did Gawain. Merlin saw them exchanging high-fives with Leon. 

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall announced. 

A hush fell. Merlin looked up at where the black-haired boy was approaching the stool. The hat was too big for his head. Merlin glanced around at hundreds of anxious, waiting faces and then back to the boy in confusion. 

" Why—? "

Morgana hushed him. Her half-smile was predatory. Merlin remembered her placing bets for Ravenclaw on the train and studied the boy more closely. He still didn't look like anything special. 

GRYFFINDOR the hat finally decided, and the house table went up in a roaring chorus. Some Slytherins made very rude noises, but Morgana clapped along just as enthusiastically as any of the Gryffindors. Merlin followed her lead. 

The line moved faster after that. Gwen went to Hufflepuff all pink-cheeked and glowing, and she and Merlin shared a quick hug as she hurried past. 

"What was the big deal with Potter?" Merlin asked Morgana as he piled food onto his plate. A thin-faced boy opposite Merlin

_(Malfoy, Draco. The hat hadn’t been on his head for more than a heartbeat)_

snorted into his goblet. 

"You mean you don't _know_?" He demanded before Morgana could answer. Malfoy paused then and looked Merlin up and down. When he spoke again, his tone reminded Merlin of Arthur. "No, of course not. He's the Boy Who Lived. Personally, I think he's quite rude, but he's something of a hero to my kind." 

"Our kind." Morgana cut in with a tone like glass. Malfoy shrank back under her gaze, and Morgana turned away, deftly cutting Malfoy out of the conversation with a cold shoulder. "He's the only one ever to survive the Killing Curse, and he did it when he was just a toddling babe. Voldemort tried and got killed in the—" she caught sight of Merlin's expression and sighed in exasperation. "You do know who Voldemort is, don't you?" 

"Uh..." Merlin chewed thoughtfully. "A powerful, evil murderer?" He managed at last. Students around them had gone very silent and were staring at Merlin with varying degrees of disbelief. Merlin shifted in his seat. "I know I read about him, but there were more interesting bits. Is he very important?" 

"Quite important, yes." Morgana shook her head, but her exasperation had a fond edge to it now. Merlin relaxed. "Just eat your dinner. Professor Binns is sure to catch you up." 

* * *

 

Merlin was utterly unprepared for the amount of work that magic involved. All through his childhood he had summoned toys with a thought, made light from his hands on dark and stormy nights and shattered his mum's understanding of reality with nothing but instinct and a flash of raw power. Now he was expected to learn spells. And Merlin was terrible at it. 

The words were awkward on his tongue. His wand was unwieldy. Flitwick told Merlin to feel the magical core of his wand and follow its power as a conduit for his own, to move tandem with the words. So Merlin tried, and the pineapple he was supposed to be charming to do a little jig burst into a cloud of pulp that remained suspended in the air. He went to Defence Against the Dark Arts with juice in his hair, feeling utterly miserable and wondering if there had been some sort of mistake. 

In Transfiguration, Merlin was too worried about what might happen if he tried and lost Slytherin five points for his lack of effort. The only class that made a lick of sense to Merlin was Potions, and he still managed to get in trouble five minutes in.

“Does the recipe require a small sun, Elised?” Snape asked coldly. Merlin looked up from where he was scribbling notes in the margin of his textbook with a frown. Others in the class were staring at him.

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Then what,” Snape pointed at something over Merlin’s shoulder, “Is that?”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. He had done this before, on a school trip last year that took them down a cold, damp mine. The orb hung in the air a little bit behind him, flickering innocently and sending out waves of gentle warmth.

“Get rid of it, and focus on your potion.” Snape’s lips were pressed so tightly together that they had gone white. Merlin decided not to explain that it was just something that happened whenever he was somewhere unpleasant; he didn’t think that Snape would take kindly to that at all. By the time the lesson was over, Merlin had a perfect potion, and Snape still made him stay behind to scrub the cauldrons clean by hand.

Gwen was gobsmacked when Merlin recounted the incident to her at lunch."But that means you have skill, and he’s silly for not seeing it."

"I suppose." Merlin slumped forwards and tossed a bit of his sandwich into the Lake. It bobbed along for a few moments before a spindly hand snatched it below the surface. "Maybe I'll just walk into the Lake and become a grindylow. Live off fish and scraps or whatever they eat, scare children—must be easier.”

Merlin stopped at the sound of chatter behind him. Arthur and Gawain came along the path to the Lake then, laughing at a joke. Arthur broke off when he saw the bench was already taken. "You've got a bit of, uh..." He pointed to Merlin's hair. "Fruit in your hair, Ellis."

Merlin refused to give Arthur the satisfaction of either correcting his name or checking to see if some pineapple had indeed escaped Gwen's cleaning spell. 

"I doubt you did any better," Merlin said instead, one elbow slung over the back of the bench so that he could look Arthur in the eye. "I'd have thought you were too busy training to be a clot-pole to learn anything else." 

"At least I didn't get a class delayed while two teachers had to fix my mess." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And of course I managed to make my Pineapple move." 

Gawain plonked himself onto the bench on Merlin's other side and leaned in to whisper "Only because I knocked his with my elbow," at a volume intended for Arthur to hear. 

The rest of lunch was spent trying to see who could skip stones further, and Merlin was surprised to realise he was enjoying himself. Arthur was an entitled prat, true, but unlike Malfoy, he was at least genuine. Gawain was a laugh, and Gwen—Gwen was brilliant. She had invited Merlin to the Hufflepuff Common Room to give him some extra help. He felt a lot better by the time he left.

* * *

 

The night before the first flying lesson, Merlin couldn't sleep. Malfoy had been complaining all evening about First Years being unable to have brooms, but now that he was fast asleep, Merlin was free to fret. If he couldn't avoid making explosive magical mistakes in the controlled environment of a classroom, then how the hell was he supposed to manage in the air? By morning, Merlin had himself in such a state that Morgana had to storm into the boy's rooms to haul him out of bed.

"Nothing bad will happen. Madam Hooch isn't going to demand more from you than you can do. And besides—" Morgana took a clean bite of toast. "—I'm sure you can manage yourself." 

Merlin half-heartedly poked at his scrambled eggs. The tawny owl he had come to recognise as Gaius' dropped a thick envelope on the table, snatched some bacon and left. She never stayed longer than she needed to. Merlin folded the letter into his robes. 

"You're still not talking to whoever sends you those." Morgana didn't need to phrase it as a question, so Merlin decided he didn't need to give her an answer. 

"See you later," he said. "Assuming I'm still alive." 

Morgana rolled her eyes.

The mood out on the Quidditch pitch was remarkably similar to the one before the Sorting. Tense, excited. His stomach squeezed painfully, and Merlin wished that he had skipped breakfast altogether. 

"Morgana said you were going green over this." Arthur came out of nowhere. Merlin near jumped out of his skin and whirled on Arthur, who of course looked entirely at ease. 

"I s'pose you've been flying since you were a baby," Merlin muttered. 

"I have, actually." Arthur hesitated then and looked at Merlin properly for the first time. "Oh bloody hell, I forgot you're Muggle-born. You've got boring ground stuff like Basking-Ball and Feet, don't you?" 

Merlin snorted. "Don't try to be caring, it doesn't suit you," he said, and Arthur didn't reply. Merlin felt distinctly wrong-footed, but couldn't put his finger on why. There was something on Arthur's face and Merlin would have thought he was offended, but this was _Arthur_ and he was a Pendragon, and people like the Pendragons didn't get offended by people like Merlin—

A shrill whistle sliced the tension in half. Merlin turned guiltily to face Madam Hooch, who raised a pointed eyebrow. When Merlin was sure that she was too busy listing safety rules, he leant a little closer to Arthur. 

"Anyway, it's basketball and football." Merlin murmured. He was comforted by the sight of one corner of Arthur's mouth twitching up. 

Merlin's broom simply refused to move, which bothered him until Neville fell. And then Merlin was just relieved as he watched Madam Hooch escort the boy off to the Medical Wing. 

"I don't see how this is fun." Merlin tried to tug the sleeves of his robes over his hands, but they fit too well for that. 

"It's sport," said Gawain, who had turned up late and lost ten points from Gryffindor. Both he and Merlin turned to Arthur in expectation of some long, haughty opinion, but Arthur was fixated on Malfoy and Potter. Gawain let out a very quiet "Shit." 

Merlin could see that the argument was building over a little red ball. Frankly, it seemed pointless to him, but Arthur's jaw was clenched shut. 

"What—" But Merlin was too late. Arthur strolled to Potter's side. 

"Give it back, Malfoy. Neville's done nothing to you." Arthur was frightening when he was angry. His warmth became a fierceness that brought Merlin out in a cold sweat. Malfoy faltered, seemed like he would back down, then— 

"Make me." and he was off. In the air. On a broom. The mad bugger.

Arthur tried to follow him, but Crabbe and Goyle stepped into his path before he could get a broomstick. What Malfoy's minions had overlooked, however, was Harry Potter. In the following uproar, Arthur snatched Crabbe's broom and joined the chase. Merlin was powerless to do anything but watch. His body refused to respond. 

Gawain was yelling at his broomstick to _Get up already, you useless twig_ and the bushy-haired girl from the train was saying something about getting expelled from Hogwarts for good. Merlin forgot how to breathe as Arthur and Potter hurtled towards the ground at break-neck speed. Arthur might have been good, but nobody was that good. 

"Pull up, you bloody oaf!" Gawain. "Pull up!" 

Arthur did. 

Or, he tried to. 

And Potter just kept going. 

Merlin's heart plummeted through his stomach as Potter veered upwards with the ball in his hand and Arthur, who was too close to him, got caught in the by-wind. He tried to avoid a collision but only succeeded in losing grip on his broom. As Potter swerved, Arthur was left dangling from his broom by his hands—and then he smacked into the side of the school. Arthur fell. 

Golden warmth rippled out from Merlin's hands in a mushroom cloud. 

It came from everywhere and nowhere. Merlin wanted the ground to be soft, and then it was. He wanted everyone to be safe on the field, and then they were. Malfoy, Potter and Arthur all crashed into the glistening gold bubble, which sunk gently to accommodate them until all three were safely on the firm earth. 

Merlin heard Gawain say "Oh no." and then a firm hand landed on his shoulder. Professor McGonagall held Merlin in a pincer-like grip as she stared at the scene spread out before her. Her mouth worked soundlessly until, at last, she found the right words. 

"I have never seen anything so foolish." McGonagall managed at last, and Merlin silently agreed with her. Arthur, dazed but otherwise unhurt, looked like a hare caught in the headlights; Malfoy had gone very pink; and Potter... 

He looked absolutely sick with horror. Merlin knew that look. It was a special sort of fear that came with finally getting something good, and seeing that goodness torn from your grasp. 

"It was Malfoy," Merlin heard himself say, which definitely wasn't going to help him fit in with the Slytherins any better. McGonagall finally realised that her hand was still on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin rushed on. "Potter was just trying to save something of Neville Longbottom's, and Arthur was trying to help him, but Malfoy started it all—" 

Malfoy burst out in a high, kicked-pig squeal. "You traitor—" and McGonagall lifted her wand. There was sudden, complete silence. 

"There will not be another word from any of you," she said in a voice that was impressively calm. "Elised, Pendragon, Malfoy—my office. Potter, come with me." 

McGonagall spoke to Arthur and Malfoy together while Merlin waited outside, wondering how he was going to explain himself to his mum when the school contacted her

 _(and how would they do that? An owl with a damning parchment letter in its beak?)._  

"Please, sit." McGonagall was surprisingly gentle when Merlin finally got called in. He sat heavily. "You're not in any trouble." 

"... Oh." Merlin thought he could have collapsed from sheer relief. As it was, his spine curled, and he slumped in his chair with a trembling exhale. 

"Where did you learn to cast spells like that?" 

Merlin was at a loss. "I didn't?" 

"I know what I saw, Mr Elised." McGonagall frowned. "That was like no spell I've ever encountered, and how a first-year who can't even charm a pineapple managed it is beyond me." 

"There's no spell." Merlin shrunk deeper into his seat at the reminder of the Pineapple Debacle. "I just sort of wanted it to happen, and it did. Like a push." 

"A push?" 

"Well, more like using a muscle in my brain." Merlin wasn't sure if that made any more sense. "Like, reaching into the stuff of—of, well, stuff—and then... You know?" 

"No," McGonagall said in a voice like brittle glass. "No, Mr Elised. I'm afraid I don't." 

* * *

 

Merlin didn’t dare go into his room that night. He was too tired to deal with Malfoy, so he dragged some blankets to the settee when everyone else went to bed and flopped down with a huff. Morgana looked up from her Divination homework. 

"What are you doing up still?" Merlin yawned. 

"I'm the resident insomniac." Morgana put her homework down on the table. "What's your excuse?" 

"Malfoy. Quidditch." 

"I heard about that" Morgana rubbed her tired eyes. 

_(and she really did look tired in the low lights,tired like nobody their age should look and it frightened Merlin)_

"I'll let you get some rest then, no use both of us being up all night." 

"Wait—" Merlin's stomach lurched. "I'm not tired,” that was a lie and Morgana probably knew it, “Why don't you tell me about Quidditch? You're a... uh, a beetroot, aren't you?" 

Morgana laughed, and Merlin saw the relief and gratitude in her eyes bright as day. "Beater, Merlin. It's Beater." 

They talked like that, Merlin mangling the names of the different Quidditch positions in increasingly foolish ways, just to see Morgana grin until he fell asleep. When he woke up, Morgana was snoring over her homework, and the fire had gone out.

At first, Merlin couldn’t tell what had woken him. Something was humming.

No, that was it.

The humming.

It was deep and warbling, like an itch under Merlin’s skull. And it was coming from his wand. Like a puppet pulled on a tight string, Merlin followed it.

Merlin didn’t know how he avoided being caught. Filch walked right past him at one point and didn’t even blink. So Merlin kept going, creeping along the dark corridors and up flights of stairs, jumping at every shadow. The pull brought him, at last, to a tower classroom he had never been in before. The door was unlocked. Merlin tiptoed inside.

A woman stood in the middle of the room as if she had been waiting for him. Which, Merlin realised with a sick lurch in his stomach, she probably had. He gripped his wand tighter.

“ _Emrys,”_ the woman murmured in the voice of someone waking from a deep sleep. Her voice did not match her body. She was small and slight with owlish eyes—but Merlin could have sworn that three people were speaking.

“It’s Elised.”

_“You have many names_

_some old_

_some new._

_But one always remains the same._

**_Emrys_**.”

All three voices came together on the last word. Merlin was rooted in place.

" _There is a story as old as time._

_The pattern changes but the pieces remain the same._

_Arthur and Merlin._

_Merlin and Arthur._

_Two halves of a whole;_

_two sides of a coin._

_Magic changes—_

_—evolves—_

_—endures._

_And you are magic itself._

_You never change.”_

"Who are you? What are you talking about?" Merlin managed to take a trembling step back before his legs locked in place. This woman, this being, had a hold over him that not even his magic could break. His heart hammered in his throat.

" ** _We are the Disir, the mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess_**.

_We have watched as the Old Religion waxed and waned—_

_—as the shape of magic moulded to the changing mind of man_ _—_

_—and our flame burns low._

_The torch is in your hands now._

_Guide the Once and Future King._

_Give him light so that he may bring light to others._

**_The darkness is coming_ ** _.”_

Everything stopped.

The voices, the humming, the leaden weight in Merlin’s bones, all of it. Gone. He tried to tell them to wait, but his throat was parched. All that came out was a croak.

The woman stumbled forwards and caught herself, hands-on-knees, trembling violently. When she noticed Merlin, her already owlish eyes widened even more.

“Dear me, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She paused and looked around. Her voice was nothing like that of the Disir. “So pale, and haunted. Such a weight surrounds you. Sit, sit!”

Merlin sat. He waited for an explanation.

The woman turned out to be Professor Trelawney, teacher of Divination, and she gave him tea with a stale biscuit but no explanation. She didn’t even seem to realise what had happened. Merlin wondered how Trelawney was rationalising all this to herself, she and a student alone in a classroom in the dead of night, and then decided that he didn’t want to know. Merlin drank his tea. Professor Trelawney drank sherry.

Merlin waited for the bizarre dream to end.

It didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also the formatting was a blast, I loved doing it


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer spilled over into autumn like a cauldron about to blow, and shit hit the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this since November last year? What the hell?? Gods, I am _so_ sorry. I knew I'd been busy (hospitalisation, personal life shenanigans, exams, the usual carnival) but I hadn't realised how much time got away with me! 
> 
> College is over now, all exams completed, I'm recovered and there are fanfics to be written. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented and left kudos in my adbsense, it means the world to me x 
> 
> Hopefully it won't be so long until the next chapter

Summer spilled over into autumn like a cauldron about to blow, and Merlin finally slipped into his life at Hogwarts

He had made nothing explode since October began and that, as Lance said, was progress. 

(Lance had spent a night having his eyebrows regrown and Merlin couldn’t believe that the third year wanted to continue helping him).

Merlin managed a successful transfiguration. Or, semi-successful. The spell somehow hit his potions homework instead of Gwen’s needle, resulting in two hours of careful work being turned into a rubber duck. At least Lance was kind enough to mention that a duck hadn’t been the intended result.

“Snape will kill me.” Merlin poked at his bacon on Sunday morning.

“No,” Morgana said thoughtfully and punctuated her words with a bite of bacon. “He’ll just make you wish he’d—” she halted. Merlin followed Morgana’s gaze and saw that Arthur had wedged himself between Harry and Malfoy. Morgana set down her goblet with a thud.

“Bloody clotpole,” Merlin mumbled. 

Maybe it was Malfoy’s irritating smirk; Maybe it was the utterly bemused look on Harry’s face—but Merlin was already walking across the hall before he had made a conscious decision.

“... you can’t speak to me like that, Pendragon. My father—”

“Your father?” Arthur snorted. “He’d never approach my father.”

Merlin wanted to smack his face against a solid surface until the entire argument went away.

“Why not? Everyone knows they stick daddy Pendragon at a desk these days. My father could knock him flat.” Malfoy sneered.

Arthur puffed himself up. “My—”

“My mum would box your ears and tell you to pick your battles for yourself, not for others,” Merlin broke in. A complete hush fell on the Gryffindor table. “But I say that hiding in your family coat-tails makes you look like total prats.”

Merlin saw the Granger girl duck behind her newspaper and fought to suppress a grin. At least someone shared his sentiment.

“Look, Merlin...” Arthur cleared his throat and Merlin didn’t like his tone one bit. “You wouldn’t understand, you’re muggle-born.”

Merlin’s amusement ran cold. “No, no, I get it. It’s wizard custom to hide behind your family name, right?” He knew that he should stop talking but his mouth didn’t want to listen to common sense. “You learn about—about magic, this brilliant world and you’ve got all this stuff at your fingertips, and then waste it by using mum or dad as a shield.”

“I don’t...” Arthur started. Couldn’t finish.

“You can’t—you—” Malfoy seemed to be choking on his own indignation. Ironically, both boys were now shoulder to shoulder, united against Merlin instead of bickering with each other. Merlin grit his teeth. 

So maybe they had oodles of money and a fearsome family reputation, but Merlin had had his head shoved down the public toilets until he surrendered his earnings from a car wash. In Merlin’s world, tumbles on the concrete in the bitter December rain meant everything. Names were no better than scraps of paper in the wind.

“Maybe you should sit down, Arthur,” said Harry, for which Merlin was intensely grateful. Another moment of silence and Merlin was certain that Malfoy would have drawn his wand. 

Merlin couldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. He felt betrayed, and he felt stupid for feeling that way. Arthur was an entitled prat, and that was a fact.

Merlin left the hall without returning to his seat. He felt — and it was bizarre, strange, unprecedented — but he felt homesick. And not for his mum’s cooking or his own bed, but for the finer, grittier things. Things like the empty concrete development site where he and Will used to play, or the allotment where he and his mum grew blackberries. 

Things like the simple muggle existence that Merlin knew inside out.

Merlin slumped against a wall in an empty corridor and drew in a deep breath. The hallways were quiet, so when Snape rounded the corner without a sound it made Merlin start. His stomach immediately lurched. Had Malfoy told on him?

“The headmaster wishes to see you, Mr Elised,” said Snape. “Now.”

 

Merlin hadn’t known what to expect, and Snape wouldn’t say anything.  He climbed the staircase with stiff knees and knocked on the door. It swung open.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, peering at something on a page in front of him, and a second figure stood at the window. It took Merlin another moment to realise that the second person was Gaius.

The sudden wrenching sensation in Merlin’s gut took him by surprise. He was angry — but bitterly, like nothing he had felt before. The door closed itself behind him.

In his surprise, Merlin forgot about Dumbledore and went straight for Gaius. “What are you doing here?”

“I feared you weren’t getting my letters.” Gaius smiled ruefully. 

“I—” Merlin cut himself off when Dumbledore cleared his throat. Both Merlin and Gaius turned to face him.

“May I see your wand, Merlin?” Dumbledore asked politely enough, but Merlin’s stomach dropped.

With trembling fingers, he gave his wand over. His next words were heavy on his tongue. “Does its owner want it back?”

Gaius and Dumbledore stared at Merlin as if he had said something rude. Merlin flushed.

“My boy, you _are_ the owner of this wand,” Dumbledore said. “I just need to look. Ah, yes — Indeed, Gaius, you remain sharp as ever.”

“I don’t understand.” Merlin swallowed thickly. He had been saying that a lot lately.

“This wand caused quite a stir in the right circles.” Dumbledore smiled warmly. “But it seems the search is at its end now. Thank you, Merlin.” He handed the wand back and folded the letter away. Merlin remained standing. Waiting.

“That will be all,” Dumbledore said. Merlin couldn’t be sure, but for a moment he seemed distracted. Then his eyes sharpened on Gaius. “Gaius and I have much to discuss.”

“Ah.” Gaius seemed awkward. “I was rather hoping to see Merlin out.”

Dumbledore merely smiled.

Gaius did not speak again until they were out of the castle walls. He took a seat on a bench and patted the space next to him. Merlin remained standing.

“Your wand, Merlin... It had us in quite a state.” Gaius laid his hands on his thighs and leant back against the wall as if he had just been relieved of a huge weight. “And if Albus had his way, you wouldn’t be any wiser.”

Merlin tried not to look too interested. “Right.”

“Turned out I shouldn’t have been consulting master wand-makers at all. You see, it was Newt Scamander who could give me answers.”

Merlin couldn’t hold his distance at that. His mouth dropped open. Gaius smiled a familiar, conspirators smile and for a moment, everything was okay between them. Merlin waited for the next revelation with bated breath.

“Your wand’s core is sinew taken from a creature called the Questing Beast.” Gaius withdrew from his cloak pocket a book that was both ancient, and far too big to fit in such a small space. When unfolded, it took up the rest of the bench.

“I haven’t read about that one yet.”

“And you won’t.” Gaius turned the yellowed pages until he came to a beautifully preserved drawing of a creature like a hooded snake, but with a spotted body and the hind legs of a great cat, its cloven hooves raised in fury. “It was a creature tied to destiny, said to appear at moments where fates were sealed or made.”

Merlin’s mouth had gone dry. “Was?“ He looked again at the beast in the drawing, tracing the curve of its proud head.

“Unfortunately, the beast itself had a destiny it could not live without. A family of warriors were sworn to hunt the creature, and if they did not, it would wither away and die.” Gaius patted Merlin’s hand. “The last Questing Beast was found in the moment of its passing, according to this book, by a half-blooded witch of a distant relation to the family. She preserved its magic in the wand you now wield.”

Merlin lifted the book and sat heavily. His stomach was tying itself up in knots as it had done before the flying lesson. Fate. Destiny.

_The torch is in your hands now_ , the Disir had said. Merlin looked down at his wand.

“You’re not just telling me this because I like magical creatures, are you?”

“No,” Gaius shook his head. “If this wand chose you, Merlin... I worry. I worry deeply.”

“I know you worry.” Merlin scuffed the ground hard enough to hurt his toes. “You kept me from all this because it worried you.”

“You’re like a son—” Gaius reached out. Merlin pulled away.

“But you’re not my Da.” Merlin pressed himself into the far armrest of the bench and drew his knees up to his chest. His fingers ground their way into the flesh of his upper arms. “And it wasn’t your choice to make.”

“No,” Gaius agreed sadly.

“You should go.”

Merlin didn’t look at Gaius, but he heard a trembling intake of breath before Gaius stood up.

Merlin inhaled sharply. “Gaius—” the words hung on the tip of his tongue, but Merlin didn’t know how to say them. The Disir, the way his wand had a life of its own, the pineapple explosion — these were all things that Merlin would have gone to Gaius about, once upon a time. But not anymore. He cleared his throat. “Bye.”

 

* * *

 

Halloween had never been of much importance to Merlin, but Hogwarts breathed fresh life into the celebration. Gwen’s father sent her a charmed pumpkin necklace that emitted a warm glow whenever you hummed the tune to This Is Halloween and she wore it everywhere. Merlin received a pair of devil horns in the owl post from his mum, along with a letter: 

> _I don’t know if wizards celebrate trick-or-treating, but just in case, I hope you have better luck than you would back home, cariad._

The devil horns were handmade and so floppy they resembled puppy ears, but Merlin wore them to the Halloween feast, anyway. Morgana took one look at him and burst into a fit of giggles.

“What are you wearing?”

Merlin grinned at her. “Devil horns. What else would they be?” he shook his head so that the horns wobbled.

“No,” Morgana said. “Absolutely not. You’re a terrible devil, give it here.” She plucked them from his head and positioned them on hers instead. Merlin had to admit that they fit her better.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Arthur stood there with his arms folded, trying to look at Morgana instead of Merlin. They had not spoken to one another all week, and Merlin wasn’t sure how to break that silence.

“Yes?” Morgana eyed Arthur closely. “What brings you to our side of the hall?”

“I was wondering if you’d seen Hermione?”

Morgana and Merlin exchanged a look.

“Hermione Granger?” Morgana frowned. “Why would we?”

“Well, it’s... Ron said something that upset her, and now she’s not here. Gawain said he’d heard that someone saw her near your common rooms, so I just thought—”

Whatever else Arthur thought, it would have to wait. The doors to the hall swung open and Professor Quirrel’s next words drowned out everything else.

“Troll in the dungeons.”

Chaos broke out on all sides, but Merlin didn’t move. 

Will used to scare him with stories of trolls hiding out in abandoned buildings, and so Merlin had read everything he could about them when he found out they were real. They were as ugly as they were stupid. So how the hell had one gotten into the building? Merlin’s hand closed around his wand. It hummed in response to his touch, as if in agreement.

Students were lining up, scattering half-eaten food and knocking over goblets. Arthur tugged on Merlin’s robes.

“Come on.”

Merlin shrugged Arthur off. “Where’s Quirrel?”

“Dunno, he went down. You need to get into your line.” Arthur huffed impatiently. Morgana wove her way back to the table.

“What is it?”

“Idiot here is blathering on about Quirrel, of all things,” Arthur said. “Look, I have to go.”

“There!” Merlin caught sight of Quirrel’s turban seconds before he vanished through a door. His posture was not that of a man scared out of his mind, but quick and determined. Morgana started to say something, but Merlin brushed her away and set off in hot pursuit. After a few beats, Morgana and Arthur both re-appeared at his side in the hallway outside. Merlin rounded to face them, painfully aware that any delays would allow Quirrel to get further away from him. And the wand-hum was getting louder.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked them. “There’s a troll wandering around, you should do what the teachers said.”

Morgana laughed in disbelief. “You did not just say that.”

“If you’re doing something stupid,” Arthur said. “I’m going to make sure you don’t get killed.”

Merlin shook his head. “Fine. Just be quiet.” He leant around the corner.

What he saw confirmed all of his suspicions.

“Quirrel’s heading towards the forbidden corridor,” Merlin whispered. Morgana and Arthur stared back at him, each one as wide-eyed as the other. “I think he let the troll in as a distraction.”

“Quirrel?” Arthur snorted. “There’s probably a magic item stored there or something and he’s gone to protect it. He wouldn’t let a troll in on purpose.”

“I doubt he’d hurry to protect anything,” Morgana countered. She edged past Merlin and peered around the corner, one arm flung out to prevent Merlin or Arthur from going any further. When she looked back, her eyes glittered with a wicked determination. Not even the floppy devil ears could make her look less frightening.

“What are you thinking?” Arthur asked. His tone suggested he had seen that look too many times before and with less than favourable results. Morgana smiled.

“You follow him,” she said and looked right at Merlin.

“Him?” Arthur snorted at the same time as Merlin asked, “Me?”

Morgana rolled her eyes.

“Distract him. Go on, while he’s battling with the stairs.” She pointed up at a balcony. “That’s where he’s heading, so let us get there first.”

Merlin floundered. “What do I—?” But Morgana had already pushed Merlin around the corner. He stumbled. Righted himself. His heart was in his throat.

“Professor!” Merlin called as he mounted the stairs. Quirrel turned around. For a moment, his face was a fixed mask of an uncharacteristic fury. Then he registered who he was talking to, and the moment vanished.

“Wh—what are you…?” Quirrel removed his attention from where two steps had vanished. “There’s a troll!” He almost sounded scared, but it wasn’t convincing. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek and fought back the sudden urge to laugh.

“I had a question, about trolls,” Merlin said. It was the only thing he could think of. “The troll here reminded me, see. I was wondering...” he broke off as his eyes caught onto Morgana and Arthur running up another staircase just above where he and Quirrel stood.

“You were wondering,” Quirrel echoed weakly.

“How do trolls, um...” Merlin’s brain had gone blank. Morgana turned and made a rolling-on motion with her hands, her face urgent. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten.”

Quirrel went to turn away and Merlin stumbled a step closer. “Wait!”

“M-Mr, uh... I have somewhere to—to be somewhere. Now.”

“No, no this is important,” Merlin squeaked, aware that his voice pitch was rising and unable to stop it. He cleared his throat. “I want to write a paper about trolls, or at least read more about them. They sound like a pretty decent sort but, er, people don’t... they give trolls a lot of flak, right? So I was wondering if—”

“I really must—”

“—you could tell me how... to find some books to read?” Merlin could hardly catch his breath. Morgana and Arthur were off the stairs and onto the third-floor landing. They appeared to be in a heated discussion about a door.

Behind Quirrel, the missing steps had returned. Merlin exhaled slowly. He had exhausted his already-limited supply of material for stalling. There wasn’t any time to find more.

“Try the library,” Quirrel said with no hint of a stutter. And drew his wand.

The spell hit Merlin full in the chest.

He lay on the floor, all the air knocked from his lungs, and tried to force his eyes to focus. At first, he thought his vision had doubled

_(two Quirrels?)_

but then he realised he was looking at two people.

Snape and Quirrell.

Merlin hauled himself into a sitting position. His head felt full of scrambled eggs, brain cracking against the inside of his skull every time he moved. Arthur and Morgana’s faces gleamed in the shadows at the top of the stairs, illuminated by sharp bursts of spell-light.

Merlin wondered vaguely why nobody else had arrived. Surely, _surely_ , other teachers should be flooding into the corridor by now. They would know what to do.

But no. The other teachers were too busy dealing with the troll. 

Nobody else would help them.

Merlin lurched to his feet. Bile threw itself against the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down and reached into his pockets. His fingers brushed against something cool—his transfigured potions homework. Merlin stared at the rubber duck. He needed something… something else, but he couldn’t think what.

Snape and Quirrell were firing spells at one another with dizzying speed; Snape stood in front of the door where Morgana and Arthur had been standing moments before, and Quirrell was edging up towards him. With a swoop of surprise, Merlin realised that Quirrell was shielding Morgana and Arthur. Snape’s face was fixed in an expression of pure contempt.

Merlin’s vision flickered out, clouded by white TV-film grains. He looked at the rubber duck, at Snape, at the rubber duck. And then he threw it at Snape’s face. The duck struck Snape on the side of the head.

In another time and place, that would have felt immensely satisfying. But there was no time to appreciate the irony, because a burst of light exploded in front of Merlin’s eyes.

Morgana’s scream echoed in Merlin’s ears — and then nothing.

* * *

 

Merlin woke up in the infirmary.

The first thing he noticed was that his head felt like a bruised, over-ripe fruit. The second was that he wasn’t alone. Gwen sat in a chair at his side, her eyes fixed on a book she wasn’t reading.

Merlin cleared his throat. “Gwen?”

Gwen started up, her book spilling onto the floor. “You’re awake!” her face split into a wide grin. “Oh my god, Merlin, if you weren’t already in a sick bed, I’d put you there myself. You scared me.”

Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Let’s just be glad I wasn’t expelled, yeah?”

Gwen’s smile froze and turned into a frown. Even before she spoke, cold dread ran through Merlin’s veins.

“Um, I don’t think they’d expel you for getting whacked in the head by a troll.”

“What?” Merlin sat up, brushing away Gwen’s hands as she tried to stop him. He glanced up and down the rows of beds, the sick sensation returning in full as he took in the empty infirmary. No Morgana. No Arthur. “No, hang on. There was Snape, and Quirrell, and we… I threw a rubber duck at Snape. It hit him on the head.”

Gwen laughed, and Merlin didn’t think he imagined the nervous edge to it. “No? That’s not—what do you think happened?”

“Where’s Arthur and Morgana? They’ll be able to tell you.” Merlin tried to pull his covers back, but the simple movement sent blood rushing to his head. He slumped back against the pillows. 

Gwen looked visibly worried now. “They’re at lunch. Merlin, what on _earth_ are you on about?”

“Snape and Quirrell. They were duelling.” Merlin rubbed his face, scrambling to get the pieces in the right order. Whatever spell had hit him, it had done a number on his memory. He knew what had happened—could see every blow of the whole disaster—but when he tried to explain it, everything unravelled. “I know I threw my potions homework at Snape, and Morgana was there…”

“Oh!” Gwen gave him a relieved smile. “I get it now. I guess getting hit that hard will give you weird dreams, right?”

Merlin just gaped at her. He wondered if he had slipped into a weird, alternate reality like something out of a Star Trek episode.

“Gwen,” Merlin said flatly. “What’s going on?”

“Snape found you in the library,” Gwen replied. All of her unease melted away, and she picked up her book, smoothing dust off the cover as she bookmarked her place. “Morgana told him you’d left dinner just before everything went to hell, to go do some extra reading, so he came and got you.”

Definitely an alternate reality, Merlin thought. It was that, or he accepted that he’d put his foot in some convoluted conspiracy plot. He took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “Yeah, of course. You’re right. I just… it’s blurry, is all.” He swallowed. “So, uh, what happened to the troll, anyway?”

Gwen’s eyes lit up. “You’ll never guess who stopped it: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”

Merlin made the appropriate interested noises and let Gwen ramble on, but he wasn’t listening. When Madam Pomfrey ushered Gwen out to classes, Merlin could barely hide his relief. He sank into the pillows. 

_Oh lad,_ said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like his mum. _What the hell have you gotten into now?_  


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearly Christmas, but nobody has gotten the memo about the merriness of the season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD NEWS FOLKS: I've defined the plot notes for this whole book. (Or maybe bad news... depending on where you're standing...) and I'm v hyped for where this is going! Thank you for all the continued support of this dumpster fire of an idea x   
> Also, for those of you asking: Harry/Ginny will not be endgame, although it will get a brief run ~~before morgana gives ginny her lesbian awakening during one of the tri-wizard balls AHEM~~

The thought of flying may have filled Merlin with abject horror, but when he saw Morgana as a Beater, all he felt was awe. It didn’t even matter that they had barely spoken since the disaster with Quirrell. 

“I don’t know what you’re grinning about,” Malfoy said. “We’re losing.” 

Merlin tore his eyes away from where Morgana had just saved Marcus’ head by a hair’s breadth and realised that Malfoy was right. Gryffindor had won 20 points while Merlin wasn’t looking. 

Across the field, Merlin could just pick out Arthur and Gawain, the latter of whom had identical binoculars. For a moment, their gazes locked and Gawain waved at him. Merlin couldn’t help his grin. At least Gawain was still being friendly. 

A heartbeat later, Merlin was almost knocked over as the Slytherins broke out into cheers. Crabbe hit Merlin on the back in what Merlin guess was supposed to be a friendly gesture. Malfoy’s cheeks were flushed pink. Sweeping his gaze up to the game, Merlin focused his borrowed binoculars just in time to see the Gryffindor captain tumble from his broom. 

Merlin was trying to be a good Slytherin and support his House, but the whole thing was incredible. He had never really been one for sports — his mum watched football, when she could — and mostly, his general apathy carried over to Quidditch. But the magic of it was undeniable.

( _Literally magic_ , Merlin thought, and grinned so wide his cheeks hurt).

Teams felt unimportant when there were actual flying brooms and enchanted balls. 

Merlin was swept along with the rest when Slytherin finally scored. His fingers curled into the wooden railing for dear life, the binoculars forgotten around his neck. Morgana flew past the stands, so close that Merlin could see the smile on her face before she spun and sent a bludger hurtling towards Angelina Johnson. Merlin might even have admitted that he was enjoying himself.

But then Harry’s broom began to convulse.

The reaction from Merlin’s fellow Slytherins was equal parts vicious glee and horror. Merlin craned his neck as much as he could, desperate not to lose sight of Harry as he tried to gather his magic. If he could do the same as before, at flying practise…

Morgana banked overhead, the end of her broomstick sweeping through startled students. Merlin’s focus snapped away from Harry, dismay mounting in his chest as Morgana wheeled and headed straight for the teacher’s stands. He couldn’t see her face, but the set of her shoulders and ramrod spine spelt trouble.

Merlin’s magic continued to build.

Teachers scattered. Not because of Morgana — they didn’t seem to have noticed her yet — but something else. Through the binoculars, Merlin caught sight of a flash of flame by Snape’s feet.

“What is she doing?” Someone yelled right by Merlin’s ear. Morgana wasn’t stopping.

“Protego,” Merlin gasped out. He didn’t know how to cast the spell— he just knew it was related to protection. His heart jackhammered in his throat as he jabbed his wand in Morgana’s direction.

A wall of golden light exploded in front of the stands just in time to catch Morgana head on. Snape, his wand lifted to cast a spell of his own, froze. Merlin felt those black eyes boring into him from across the field. He shuddered. 

A girl in a group of sixth-years behind Merlin uttered an eloquent “ _Fuck_.” Which Merlin thought summed up everything he was feeling. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He thought he might be sick.

Lee Jordan’s voice, distant and surprised, echoed across the field. “Oh my God, Harry has the snitch.” He sounded like he had forgotten his role as a commentator.

Knees shaking, head pounding, Merlin didn’t stay to watch any longer.

 He made it to the winter-deadened fields around the Lake before he realised that someone was behind him. 

“… lin! Merlin!”

Unable to ignore the shouting, Merlin stopped running and turned around. Gwen and Lancelot came to a stop in front of him, both of them breathing hard. Merlin tensed, expecting a barrage of questions, the memory of McGonagall’s shock still fresh in his mind.

Lance just laughed. “That was amazing,” he panted, giving Merlin a thumbs-up. Gwen nodded enthusiastically.

Merlin just blinked dumbly at them. “But I… I threw any chance of Slytherin winning. And — Morgana’s probably hurt, and everyone saw me and I don’t—”

“Mate, shut up.” Lance put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “You cast a shield charm. Do you _know_ how many adult witches and wizards can’t do that?”

“Um… no?”

“My mums both agree it’s a spell everyone says you should be able to do, but most can’t.”

“Dad says something similar,” Gwen added. “Back when he still charmed jewellery, protective rings were his biggest seller.”

“Oh,” Merlin said in a small voice. Unsure what else to do, he sat on the grass. His feet had taken him towards his favourite spot by the Lake, far enough away from the Castle that most students didn’t bother with the trip.

Lance and Gwen sat either side of him. Gwen produced a thermos of tea she had brought for the game and shared it between the three of them. Merlin was immensely grateful for the warmth, even if it was too milky for his taste.

“I just don’t want to be the weird kid, you know?” Merlin admitted, staring into his drink. “I was the weird one at home, and this was supposed to be different.”

“I don’t think you’re weird,” Lance said. “I mean, I don’t know anyone else your age who drinks tea black, but… that’s a small thing.”

“’Sides, I don’t think anyone will remember what you did tomorrow.” Gwen nudged Merlin with her elbow, none too gently. “Harry Potter caught the snitch _in his mouth_.”

“Ew.” Merlin pulled a face.

“Seriously, I thought he’d be sick.” Gwen wrinkled her nose, finding obvious glee in recounting the story for Merlin. “And then he just spits it into his hands as if it’s a cherry pip or something.”

“Oh my god,” Lance mumbled, his eyes wide and full of horror. “Just _think_  how many grubby hands have held that thing, and then in his mouth…”

Merlin tried to stifle his laughter. “Why would you even think about that?”

“Hey, Merlin,” Gwen whispered loudly, “I think _he’s_ the weird one.”

Lance stuffed a handful of grass down the back of her scarf.

* * *

 

The weeks before Christmas were the longest of Merlin’s life. He had a lot of work to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of him had frozen in time. All attempts to speak to Morgana and Arthur about what happened on Halloween hit the same dead end: a blank stare, Arthur’s laughter, and Morgana’s too-sweet smile. 

Most of the Slytherins believed that Morgana had had an elaborate plan up her sleeve, which Merlin had foiled by panicking. It didn’t help that Morgana herself said nothing to agree or disagree. When Merlin broached the subject, she thanked him for the consideration of her safety, and dismissed the topic out of hand. Merlin spent most of the time with Lance and Gwen in the Hufflepuff common room and ate his meals at the very end of the Slytherin table alone.

But all of that paled compared to the creeping, needling doubt that set in when Merlin couldn’t sleep. If Merlin didn’t focus, he could almost believe that Snape’s version of events was true. _Almost_. Trying to make sense of it all gave him a headache. He started writing a letter, but got as far as the word _Gaius_ and tore it up.

A week before the Christmas break was due to begin, Gwen came over to the Slytherin table at breakfast.

“You look miserable,” was her greeting. Merlin paused chewing on his piece of toast and turned to her. 

“Huh?”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Chew with your mouth shut, and I’ll tell you what I’m getting at.”

Merlin dutifully did as she said. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Merlin turned so that his back was between Gwen and the rest of the table.

“You’ve been down in the dumps all week, so I wrote to my dad—”

“You told your dad I’m sad? Why?”

“Let me finish.” Gwen laughed. “I asked if you and your mum could come and stay with us for Christmas.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. He was fairly certain that he was blushing, warmth blossoming in his chest.

“And your dad…? I mean, he’s okay with that?” Merlin hardly dared to hope.

“You dolt. I wouldn’t be telling you if he’d said no, would I?” Gwen’s smile grew into something between a grin and a smirk. “So you’re officially invited to the Smith Christmas. Want to come?”

Merlin’s heart lifted for the first time in almost a month. “Yes, _please_.”

The buzz of Gwen’s invitation carried Merlin throughout the rest of the day, easing his anxiety in potions and giving him a boost of confidence in Charms.

(Flitwick seemed to think Merlin was star-pupil material, and no amount of disastrous levitations would change his mind.)

Morgana seemed more withdrawn than usual that evening, but Merlin blamed to the recent coldness between them. He sat at the back of the room, doing his best to make sense of his Charm’s homework. When he closed his eyes, he only meant to be for a second.

* * *

 

Merlin woke to pitch black. It took him a while to realise that he wasn’t in bed, but asleep on an armchair. His back groaned as he uncurled, wondering what had woken him. 

A gust of cold air coiled through the long room. And Merlin’s brain clicked — there shouldn’t be a draught, not unless someone just left the room. The hair on the back of Merlin’s neck prickled.

Cautiously pushing open the common room’s door, Merlin caught sight of the tail-end of Morgana’s crimson dressing-gown vanishing around the corner.

By the time Merlin wondered if following Morgana around the castle at night was a good idea, he had already reached the first floor. Steeling himself, Merlin turned around the last corner and found himself outside an out-of-order bathroom. A girl’s bathroom.

Merlin was fairly certain he had heard mention of a ghost living there. He swallowed down his nerves and tried to tell himself that no ghost could be worse than the Bloody Baron. He pushed inside.

The first thing he noticed was that someone was crying.

“She’s in that one,” said a voice by Merlin’s ear. He spun around and found the ghost of a girl. The ghost pointed at the end stall, her eyes wide behind thick glasses. “I don’t mind her here normally, but she won’t stop crying.”

“Uh... Right.” Merlin backed away into a sink. The ghost giggled and vanished through the floor. 

Uncertain, Merlin followed the ghost’s directions. He knocked on the door. The sobbing cut off abruptly, then:

“You should leave before I hex you,” said Morgana. Merlin’s stomach lurched. Her voice was cold on the surface but broken underneath, and Merlin absolutely hated it. Morgana was good. Kind. Prickly, yes — but that was all part of her charm. That anyone would want to — or that anyone _could_ — make her cry alarmed him deeply. 

“Has someone hurt you?” 

There was silence, followed by a latch moving. Merlin tried to open the door and found it blocked. 

“I’m not in here,” Morgana answered in a hushed, raw voice. 

“I can see your feet,” Merlin said. “Unless they’re fake feet and this is all some kind of super fancy wizard charm.”

“Merlin...” But Morgana was caving.

“Come on, you’ve picked the best spot for moping. At least share it, will you? We can mope together.” 

It gratified Merlin to hear a weak, watery laugh from the other side of the door. A beat later, Morgana opened it. 

She looked terrible. 

Merlin fished around in the pockets of his dressing gown until he produced a crumpled tissue. He held it out to her. 

“I’m alright, thank you.” Morgana pointed to a wad of toilet-roll. 

Merlin felt suddenly wrong-footed. “Oh. Well... Let me feel useful anyway?” 

Morgana rolled her eyes and took the tissue from Merlin’s still outstretched hand. She slowly, pointedly blew her nose. And then she smiled. 

“You’re an idiot, Merlin Elised,” Morgana said fondly.

“Now that we’ve established that.” Merlin looked around. He found an old metallic waste-bin and turned it upside down as a makeshift seat. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

Morgana’s face went closed and serious. She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. 

“You mustn’t tell anyone else.” 

Merlin’s blood ran inexplicably cold. He nodded. 

“Uther wants me home for Christmas.” 

“But, that’s great, isn’t it?” Merlin frowned. “He’ll hardly say anything nasty if he wants you there.” 

Morgana sighed. “It’s what he thinks that matters.” 

“Won’t he come round?” 

“No, Merlin it’s — it’s _literally_ what he thinks. I can feel it.” 

Merlin stared at her. He didn’t think he’d read about a spell like that. 

“It’s not a spell,” Morgana said. Merlin acutely knew his mouth had dropped open, but he couldn’t remember how to close it. “I’m... A legilimens, sort of. Maybe. It’s complicated — but, I can get glimpses of people’s thoughts or bits of feelings, it’s — there is a spell, but I don’t need it. I was born with this—” her expression soured “... Gift.” 

“Who else knows? Arthur?” 

Morgana shook her head. “Only my father knew, and he helped me to conceal it.”

“Why?” Merlin blinked. He thought it sounded amazing, not something to hide. Morgana shook her head. 

“I’m from a family of Slytherins, Merlin. Grandad spied for the good side in the war, but people don’t... They won’t trust me anyway, and this thing I can do is weird. Pa knew it was better as a secret.” 

“But I thought Uther—” 

Morgana closed her eyes. “Only by blood.” She winced and fresh tears ran down her face. “I just... I cannot sit in that house and hear Uther’s pain and betrayal and — and love, screaming at me from the other end of the table. But if I don’t, it’ll only be worse over Summer.” 

Merlin stared at Morgana as she wept in silence. He didn’t know what to do or say. Being able to see into the heart of a complex, volatile relationship through the other person’s eyes sounded blood-curdling. It made Merlin feel sick and if the thought was bad, then the reality... 

Merlin took a deep breath. He wondered if he should hug Morgana, or if she would hex him for trying. 

“Please,” Morgana mumbled. So Merlin hugged her. 

When at last she had cried herself out and the two of them were sitting on the floor of the stall, sharing the last few Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean’s from a box in Morgana’s pocket, an idea struck Merlin. 

“Come stay with us for Christmas.” 

It was Morgana’s turn to stare at him incredulously. 

“That’s—” she dropped the dubiously coloured bean in her hand back into the box. “I can’t.” 

“Okay, well, Gwen’s invited me and Mam to stay. So we’re not that far, right? And if you need help, send an owl and we’ll get the train to rescue you,” Merlin said brightly, the idea gathering confidence. “It’ll be a squeeze, but I bet Gwen won’t mind. Everyone’ll be delighted and we can show you a proper muggle Christmas.” 

Morgana was still staring at him. 

“... What?” Merlin’s ears grew hot. 

“I don’t know what anyone does to deserve you, Merlin,” Morgana said. “I really don’t. And I kind of can’t believe you’d talk to me after…” she broke off, her expression sheepish. “I’ve been terrible to you.”

Merlin’s stomach twisted.

“I know you don’t believe me—”

“No, that’s the problem.” Morgana ran a hand down her face. “I think I do believe you. But Arthur doesn’t, and I don’t want him writing to Uther saying I’m being _difficult_ or having one of my funny turns.” 

Merlin took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Morgana squeezed back.

“So what do you remember?”

“I don’t. And I didn’t — I honestly thought you’d gone crazy from getting hit on the head.” A flush momentarily coloured Morgana’s cheeks. Shame, Merlin thought, so he kept his mouth shut and swallowed down the exasperation that wanted to come out. Morgana didn’t need it. “But at the Quidditch match, I caught Quirrell’s eyes and remembered… something. Like a piece of a dream, and Snape was muttering a spell under his breath.”

“In the dream?” Merlin frowned.

“No, in the match.” Morgana shifted to face him; her eyes deathly serious. “Uther has some books I want to check, for spells, because I can’t—” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I still don’t know, Merlin. I can remember but… I also can’t remember. I don’t want to talk to anyone else about this yet. Just until after Christmas.”

“But—”

“No,” Morgana snapped. Merlin recoiled, and Morgana looked down at her hands. “Uther already thinks I’m crazy, that there’s something wrong with me…” she said, and let the words hang there, weighed down by the tired slump of her shoulders. Guilt clenched around Merlin’s guts.

“Okay,” he agreed. “It can wait.” 

Morgana smiled gratefully at him, and Merlin wished he could believe his own words. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana gatecrashes Christmas at the Smith house — and not just so she can see Merlin in a paper crown (although that _is_ a bonus).

Gwen’s house was tall and narrow, leaning tiredly against the back of her dad’s jewellery shop. Merlin had only to step over the threshold to fall in love.

Tom was behind the counter at the very back of the shop, examining a piece of gold chain. He looked up when the bell over the door jingled, and his face split into a wide grin. Gwen pulled herself up onto the counter so she could give her dad a hug, dropping her bags on the other side. Merlin waited until Tom turned to him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Hunith’s upstairs. She got here just before you did, and the kettle’s on.”

Gwen lifted the gate by the till and led Merlin through a door. 

The room on the other side brimmed with a mixture of the muggle and the magical. A grandfather clock stood in one corner by the spiral staircase, stripped and gutted with its doors wide open. On the table next to it was a rabbit and fox made from the finest mechanical pieces that Merlin had ever seen. Around and around the carved wooden dais they went; caught in a perpetual chase. He could see the rabbit’s heart, a bright red ruby shining through the meshing of its ribcage. If he tilted his head just right, the gemstone seemed to beat.

“I thought… I thought your Da made _jewellery_ ,” Merlin murmured, peering at the model. “This is—” he gestured at the room: the clocks in various stages of repair; the table spread with pieces of jewellery and delicate-looking tools; the tiny mechanical animals. He didn’t have the words to explain what ‘this’ was.

“Mechanics, magic, smithery, art…” Gwen shrugged. “A bit of everything.”

“I didn’t see these in the shop,” Merlin breathed out, bending down to examine a copper bracelet fashioned like a serpent. When Gwen said nothing, he looked up and realised she was biting the inside of her lower lip with a sombre expression.

Gwen caught his eye and summoned a hasty smile. “They were mum’s favourites.” a shurg. “‘Sides, it’d be hard to explain this.” She put out her wrist by the snake, and it shivered, winding up her arm as if Tom had made it to fit.

Hunith’s voice sounded from behind. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Merlin’s face broke into a grin as he turned to face her. He barely had time to take a breath before she hugged him, pressing her face into the top of his head.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, cariad.” Hunith pulled back with her hands on his shoulders. “Last I heard, there’d been a troll in the castle.”

Merlin swallowed his guilt and shrugged. “Not been much to write about,” he said, and pretended not to notice the look Gwen gave him.

Dinner that night was lasagne — Hunith’s recipe, but Tom’s cooking — served with light chatter and a cosy atmosphere. Gwen launched into an enthusiastic retelling of the troll incident, thankfully leaving out Merlin’s supposed encounter with the troll’s club in favour of explaining how Harry Potter had taken on the troll alone.

(“Not alone,” Merlin corrected her. “And I think the teachers probably did some of the work.”

“Shhh, you’re ruining a good story,” Gwen hissed back, but she was laughing.)

Merlin even helped Gwen give an edited version of the Quidditch match, letting her take the lead with explaining the rules. 

By the time they had cleared away the plates, Merlin could barely keep his eyes open. As soon as he could, he took his leave to the single sofa-bed in the lounge. He could hear Gwen and Hunith arguing over who took Gwen’s bed—

(“You’re the guest, I can’t…”

“Hush hush, I’m not stealing your bed,” Hunith whispered back. “This water-mattress is very comfy, anyway. Have you put a spell on it?”)

—and Tom moving about in the workshop downstairs. It was nothing like the rustling and whispering of the Slytherin dorm, but it wasn’t like home, either. Their downstairs flat in Ealdor was always silent and empty at this time of night, punctuated only by the rattle of a bike on the path outside when Hunith left for the hospital.

This, Merlin decided, was infinitely better.

* * *

 

The weather was changeable and foul without a hint of snow, finally settling into a bitter chill on Christmas Eve. Merlin and Gwen lay sprawled on the lounge floor, their game of exploding snap abandoned in favour of monopoly (although most of it comprised Gwen throwing game pieces at her dad every time he tried to change the song on their ancient record player). Hunith was curled up in an armchair reading _Hogwarts: A History_ , tracing the moving pictures with her fingers.

None of them expected the doorbell to ring.

“Anyone in the mood for carol singers?” Tom asked, but a slight frown wrinkled his brow.

“I could take it or leave it,” Hunith looked first at Tom’s expression, and then at Merlin. Thankfully, she voiced the question he was too reluctant to ask “… Unless you’re expecting anyone?”

“Carollers don’t… They don’t usually realise there’s a house here.” Gwen sounded uneasy as she set down the monopoly dog in her hand. The doorbell rang again, followed by the frantic hammering of fists. The temperature in the room dropped.

Headed by Tom, the four of them crept down the stairs. Instead of going through the shop, Tom unlatched the side-door and peered through the peephole. Whoever was out there had resumed banging with the knocker, not taking the hint. Merlin’s heart leapt into his throat when Tom opened the door.

And Morgana tumbled through.

Soaking wet, her hair in bedraggled ropes, Morgana lurched straight for Merlin and grabbed his shoulders. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her glasses, which had steamed up in the warmth. Her mouth twisted into a look of frightened misery. For one wild moment, Merlin thought Morgana would hit him.

Instead, she pulled him into a hug.

Merlin was so surprised that he hugged her back, not caring about the cold droplets of water that hit his face and soaked his pyjamas. He felt her exhale as if she was letting out all the air in her body.

Gwen was the one who broke the silence first. “ _Morgana_?”

Morgana, finally realising that she had company, pulled away from Merlin. He noticed that she was wearing muggle clothes — an adult’s coat over a green woollen dress, similar to something that girls at school would have worn to the Winter Fair. It was an odd combination, but Merlin decided not to comment on it. Morgana already looked flustered enough.

In the space of a heartbeat, Morgana had regained her composure. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr Smith.” She pushed her hair back from her face and pulled off her glasses, regarding Tom with a polite, albeit squinty, expression. Tom evidentially didn’t understand what to make of that.

Hunith, however, didn’t miss a beat.

“You’re Merlin’s friend, from Slytherin?”

“Yes, I just—” But Morgana didn’t get to make an excuse. Hunith had already seen through her facade.

“Then we’d better get you inside and a hot drink. If Tom doesn’t mind, that is?” Judging from the look on Hunith’s face, Tom wouldn’t get a chance to disagree. He nodded, face frozen in surprise. Merlin bit back a grin.

Upstairs, Gwen helped find some dry clothes while Tom made hot chocolate. When Morgana returned from Gwen’s bedroom, she looked a little less like a porcelain doll an inch from shattering, and more like the Morgana that Merlin knew. She had combed her hair into a braid over one shoulder and a pair of Hunith’s fluffy socks adorned her feet.

Morgana took a seat at the table — but gingerly, as if she thought they would throw her out onto the street at any moment. Merlin turned Morgana’s mug towards her, doing his best to look encouraging, while Gwen perched on the counter. Perhaps sensing that this was not a conversation for adults, Tom and Hunith retreated to the lounge.

“What happened?” Merlin blurted. Morgana opened her mouth, but her gaze skittered to Gwen. “It’s alright — whatever you say to me, I don’t mind Gwen hearing.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Morgana relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “I thought I recognised the spell on Harry’s broom, so I did some reading in Uther’s library.”

“There was a _spell_ on his _broom_?” Gwen broke in, wide-eyed.

Morgana continued as if Gwen hadn’t spoken. “Someone must have been doing a counter-curse.”

“Really?” Merlin leant forward, fascinated. “How could you tell?”

“If they hadn’t been, the whole Wizarding world would be mourning the loss of Harry Potter.” Morgana pushed her glasses back up her nose and curled her knuckles under her chin. She had a distant, thoughtful expression on her face as if she was reading a book that Merlin couldn’t see. “If it was Snape, then maybe he really was trying to help us on Halloween. It wouldn’t make any sense otherwise. Why would he attack us and then try to save Harry Potter?”

“He _attacked you_?” Gwen’s voice was somewhere between a yelp and a whisper. Merlin and Morgana exchanged a look.

“Uh, yeah,” Merlin said. “About that…”

In awkward stops and starts, Merlin explained everything from the encounter outside the forbidden floor, to the events of the Quidditch match. Morgana gave her input where needed, both of them doing their best to fill in the gaps. The only thing they left out was Morgana’s breakdown in the bathroom and the revelations that followed.

Gwen’s eyes had gone as wide as Eagle’s. “And Arthur really doesn’t remember?”

“No. Far as he’s concerned, Merlin got himself hit on the head by a troll after we all went to our rooms.”

“Maybe the confundus charm went wonky,” Gwen murmured. Merlin frowned at her, and she shrugged. “Lance was telling me about them. They make your memory go funny, so maybe it hit Arthur and only grazed you two.”

“Huh.” Morgana gave Gwen a look as if seeing her for the first time. “I hadn’t even considered that we’d been Confunded.”

“It’d be a pretty rubbish confundus charm if you had,” Gwen retorted, and Morgana smiled in wry amusement.

It warmed Merlin to see them getting along.

He nursed his own drink, which had long since cooled, and turned over the new information in his mind. Strangely, his thoughts kept coming back to Arthur. It didn’t seem right that he, Morgana and Gwen were getting thick as thieves, while Arthur remained in the dark. Not when Arthur had offered to accompany Merlin on Halloween despite his obvious misgivings. Merlin wished he could explain everything to him, too.

“You okay?” Gwen asked. Merlin looked up, rubbing his eyes.

“Tired,” he said, which wasn’t far from the truth. Morgana caught his eye and gave a fraction of a nod.

“We should go to bed. You can top-and-tail with me.” This last was said to Morgana, who smiled and agreed. While Gwen left to sort her bed out, Morgana rinsed the cups in the sink. Merlin got up and joined her.

“Don’t say anything to Arthur,” Morgana said once Merlin was at her side, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her. The panic from earlier was back in Morgana’s demeanour as she turned to look Merlin in the eye. “You mustn’t, for his safety and yours.”

“But he can’t look out for himself if he doesn’t know—”

“I had a dream,” Morgana hissed. She glanced out of the kitchen to where Hunith and Tom were still chatting quietly on the sofa and then back to Merlin. “He was in a room with a mirror, and I think you were there too. And maybe Potter. You weren’t breathing, Merlin, and neither was Arthur and all I could smell was burning meat.”

The mug he was washing dropped from Merlin’s grasp. Water splashed everywhere, but he barely noticed.

“You dreamt this?” Merlin couldn’t help but sound incredulous. Even by Wizard standards, prophetic dreams felt too real. Too close to home. “It’d make sense if you were having nightmares with all this, wouldn’t it?”

Morgana’s expression darkened. “I’ve had dreams come true before.”

Something about the way she said it stopped Merlin from pushing any further. He gulped and nodded.

“Bedroom’s ready!” Gwen chose that moment to come back into the room. Morgana’s face transformed into a smile so light and easy, Merlin would have been fooled if he hadn’t seen the look in her eyes mere seconds ago. She and Gwen went off arm in arm, Morgana laughing at something that Gwen said. Merlin remained rooted to the spot.

“Your friend have a bad Christmas Eve dinner?” Hunith asked lightly, appearing against the door-frame. Merlin tore his eyes away from the door to Gwen’s room and cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

“She’ll be alright now.” Coming into the kitchen, Hunith ruffled Merlin’s hair and took the dishcloth from him. A teasing smile quirked up one corner of her mouth. “Now get some sleep you, else Santa won’t come.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be ushered out of the room.

* * *

 

Merlin was woken on Christmas morning by dropping a box on his chest. He sat up, gasping for air, and found Morgana and Gwen’s faces hanging over him.

“I caught Morgana sneaking out before we’d opened the presents,” Gwen said.

“Oh, Gwen—” Morgana rubbed her sleepy eyes. “I don’t have anything. I can’t stay any longer, it’s not fair—”

“I think it’s fair,” Gwen responded.

“You’re certainly welcome to stay,” Tom’s voice added from the direction of the master bedroom. The door was open a crack, and Merlin could just pick out the shape of Tom moving around on the other side.

Merlin grinned at Morgana. “I think everyone’s made up their mind.”

Morgana looked like she was about to panic, but Gwen reacted before Merlin had even sat up. She took Morgana’s hand.

“Just for breakfast?” Gwen offered.

Morgana visibly relaxed. “Alright,” she agreed, and then turned her grin on Merlin. “But only so I can see you in a muggle paper crown.”

The morning passed in a haze of wrapping-paper and Christmas crackers. There was Christmas cake and ice-cream after they’d eaten their cereal, and Morgana gave Hunith a silver sickle to make up for the lack of a sixpence in her slice.

Merlin somehow wound up with three brightly-coloured paper crowns stacked on his head, kept in place by grace of his sticky-out ears. Not that he minded. It was worth it to see Morgana relax; to see the smile on his mam’s face as she laughed at the jokes, which Tom read out in a silly voice; to see Gwen’s eyes shining as she bumped Merlin’s shoulder and whispered, “This’s much better fun than throwing ducks at teachers, right?”

“Much better,” Merlin whispered back, and his cheeks hurt from grinning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a more miserable ending planned for this but i restrained myself, since i figured everyone deserved a break (both you readers and the children). if you follow [my tumblr](https://concerningwolves.tumblr.com/), you'll know that I've been away and spent a lot of time writing fanfic as a treat for getting through Camp NaNo — which means more chapters for this fic are written and ready to go! i've estimated that there's going to be eight-ten chapters in total for this, but I'll figure that out properly later on. 
> 
> thank you for reading, kudos-ing and commenting! you're all awesome x


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback inspires some very unsettling questions — namely, "Merlin, where the _fuck_ did you learn to talk to dragons?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might have noticed me changing the fic description several times but i... think (hope? wish?) promise that this is the last time.   
> Anyway, that's not important because we have Norbert. let's give her a wahoo.

Morgana didn’t stay with the Smiths over Christmas. She left via the fire-escape, went back to the station and used the return ticket she had bought the night before. Hunith was the one who found the note when she went to see why Morgana was taking so long in the bathroom.

Merlin didn’t see or hear from Morgana again for the rest of the holidays. When the Hogwarts term began again, he found her seated in an armchair as if she had never left. She looked up over her book, caught his eye, and smiled.

“Good Christmas?” Morgana asked. Merlin was so dumbfounded he could barely remember to nod, let alone form a more coherent reply.

“Are you—”

“Merlin,” Morgana said, with infinite patience and some warning, “I’m okay. I told Uther I took the floo to see a friend.”

And that was that. She didn’t bring up the dream again, and Merlin didn’t ask. He didn’t _want_ to ask. His nightmares were full enough already with flames and the deep, primordial voice

_(voices?)_

Of the Disir.

A week after term began, Merlin awoke from one such dream in thin dawning hours. In it, Merlin was trapped in the middle of the burning Slytherin common room while the Disir gloated at him.

 _They think you’re powerful_ , the Disir hissed as one. _They think you’ll be great. But you know better, don’t you?_

Sitting up in his bed, coated in a film of sweat, Merlin could still feel the snakeskin caress of their voices on the back of his neck. It made him want to scream into his pillow or throw things around the room. But that wasn’t an option. Crabbe, Malfoy, Goyle and Zabini all slept on, unaware and blessedly quiet. The last thing Merlin wanted to wake them up.

Merlin dragged himself to the showers and sat under the hot jets of water until the shivers stopped. When a few older students came in, grumbling about extra work, Merlin dressed and hurried down to breakfast.

The only people who were awake were the ones with work to catch up on, or those getting ready for Quidditch practise. Sticking a piece of toast in his mouth, Merlin left and headed down to the greenhouses with his sketchbook and pencils. Pale sunlight spilled over the grounds as he walked; the grass was wet with thawing frost and the weather promised to be pleasant, if crisp. His breath misted faintly in the sunbeams.  

He settled down on an upturned crate and gazed out across the grounds.

* * *

 

Eventually, stiff with cold but feeling much more relaxed, Merlin began the trek back to the castle. Partway there, something snagged on his awareness. He listened.

The voice was persistent — but it didn’t speak with words. Merlin got the sense of something tiny calling out for its 

_(mother?)_

or maybe for touch, for comfort.

 _(hold)_  

Merlin peered at his wand, but it showed no sign of life. He glanced at the door of Hagrid’s hut. The noise was definitely coming from in there.

He made towards it and knocked, but there was no answer from within. The almost-voice stung his consciousness, tugging in his gut like an anchor. He couldn’t walk away. With a cautious glance around to make sure nobody was watching, Merlin darted inside. 

The house was muggy with heat and rank with the curious stench of blood and brandy — and seated on the table, shaking ash from its wings, was a dragon. It didn’t seem to notice that the tabletop was also smouldering from whatever it had burnt. The dragon looked pleased with itself as big, curious eyes gazed at Merlin.

“Hello,” Merlin breathed. All of his misgivings crumbled and blew away like so much dust. The dragon’s head bobbed up and down and she — because she was a female, although Merlin didn’t know how he knew — chittered softly. He reached out, but she snapped at his fingers and recoiled with an oddly... _Reproachful_ expression. Merlin laughed. “You only have to say hello if you want to?” he suggested and held out the flat of his hand so she could decide. After some deliberation, the dragon nuzzled her head against his hand. And then, clearly approving of him, she hopped off the table into his lap. 

Merlin clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle his surprised yelp. She was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and rather cat-like in her affections. Merlin lowered his hand and laughed, giddy with the thrill of such a small and dangerous being trusting him completely. 

She was also fast asleep, with no intention of moving. It occurred to Merlin that he should probably nudge her off and beat a hasty retreat. Hagrid seemed nice enough, but Merlin doubted the Hogwarts teachers would view him trespassing with any great favour. 

But the dragon was heavy, and the fire was warm, and it inclined Merlin to waive his misgivings. Just a few minutes, he told himself. And then he would go. 

But of course, that was when the door opened. 

“We’ve got exams to worry about and Snape _and_ the stone — this dragon is the last we need,” Hermione said, at the same moment as Ron let out a little shriek of surprise. Merlin’s head jerked up to meet three sets of startled eyes. The dragon peered at the trio, turned around, and stuck her head under his arm. He didn’t know if that would make matters better or worse. 

“I was just...” Merlin cleared his throat and looked around desperately. The chicken feathers and brandy crates sadly provided him with no help. “She was...” He motioned to the sleeping dragon. 

“She?” Ron frowned. 

“Where’s Hagrid?” Hermione asked. 

“You can go tell Malfoy to stuff himself,” Harry said. 

Merlin stared back at them with increasing confusion. When Hagrid’s voice boomed through the thick silence, he didn’t know whether he was terrified or relieved. 

Hagrid loomed behind Hermione, Ron and Harry with a stinking bucket in his hands. “I jus’ needed to get more rats. It probably won’t be enough, mind, but it’ll have t—” he looked up from the bucket and his eyes fixed on Merlin. For a dizzying moment, Merlin pictured Hagrid picking him up and throwing him bodily from the hut. But then Hagrid smiled. “Bless, he likes yeh!” 

“Hagrid—” Harry started. 

“I’d’ve appreciated some warning if yeh wanted to bring a friend though. Near frightened me half to death.”

“But Hagrid,” Harry said, more urgently, “He’s not a friend. He’s a _Slytherin_.”

Merlin’s confusion soured at that. He tensed, and the dragon lifted her head to hiss at Harry. 

“Are we stating random facts now?” Merlin said in his best Polite Idiot voice, the one he had used to navigate dozens of conflicts on Ealdor’s concrete playgrounds. “Because I’ve also got a scar from trying to sled on a baking tray if, y’know, you want any more.” Then he hesitated and realised this would usually be the point where he and Will made a run for it. 

“Alrigh’, alrigh’.” Hagrid squeezed past the trio and looked sternly at Merlin. “What’re yeh doing here?” 

“I...” Merlin gulped. “I heard her from outside, wanting her mam. So I just—came in.” 

“Ah, bless yeh!” Hagrid patted Merlin’s shoulder with such force that he almost fell out of the chair, causing the dragon to grumble and snarl. 

“But Hagrid—” 

“Now, Harry, that’s enough. If Norbert trusts ‘im then that’s good enough for me.” Hagrid beamed at Merlin. “I’ve never seen Norbert so calm with anyone,” he added, eyes shining as if he were about to cry. Merlin managed a stiff smile in return. 

“She just plopped herself on me. I didn’t get much choice.”

“She?” Hagrid peered at Norbert. “How can you tell?” 

Merlin shrugged. Ron’s suspicious gaze burned into the back of his neck. “Just can,” he said, although it was hard to talk when all he wanted to do was melt into the floor. 

“Ah, well!” Hagrid said cheerfully. “She’s still my little Norbert, ent yeh?” he tried to chuck Norbert under the chin, which she didn’t like one bit. She liked it even less when Merlin gently shunted her off his lap and stood up. With a shudder and snarl, Norbert clamped her jaws around Hagrid’s boot. 

Once Hagrid had shaken her off, he looked up at Merlin, dismayed. “Yeh going already?” his face crumpled in a frown. “I was about to make some stoat sandwiches.”

“I don’t think I’m welcome,” Merlin said with a pointed look at Ron and Harry. Hermione seemed fractionally warmer, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Nonsense!” Hagrid boomed, affronted. But Merlin was already out the door. 

It was only when he reached the castle tat he realised he had left his sketchbook behind. 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger sought Merlin out during the morning break on Thursday. She approached when he was sitting with Gwen, pouring over his notes for Charms with increasing despair. He was almost relieved when a shadow fell over him. It meant a distraction. 

“Uh...” Merlin frowned up, realising who it was. Hermione had his sketchbook in her hands, but she made no move to give it back. 

“Can I talk to you?” Hermione asked and looked at Gwen. “Alone?” 

Merlin wanted to tell her that anything she wanted to say, she could say in front of Gwen, but the slightly singed edges of Hermione’s sleeves changed his mind. It wouldn’t be fair on Gwen if he pulled her into more trouble. He was already risking a lot by telling her about Quirrel and Snape. 

“Gwen?” Merlin grinned apologetically. Gwen just wiggled her eyebrows suggestively — although Merlin didn’t know what she was suggesting — and hopped up off the bench. As soon as she was out of sight, Hermione slumped down into the seat. 

“You  _have_ to help with Norbert,” she said, no preamble. “H — she bit Ron, and Hagrid still won’t see that keeping a dragon in a _wooden house_ is a terrible idea!”

“So you... Trust me?” Merlin eyed Hermione, unused to seeing her without Harry and Ron on either side. 

“You’ve stood up to Malfoy before. I saw you do it.” Hermione shrugged. “And besides, I’ve been reading about dragons; they’re highly intelligent creatures, so of course Norbert wouldn’t trust you if she thought you meant her harm.” 

“Harry and Ron don’t, though.”

“Malfoy knows about Norbert,” Hermione explained, dropping her voice even though nobody else was loitering inside. “They’re just being careful.”

“I don’t think that’s all,” Merlin muttered bitterly. He’s not a friend, said Harry’s voice in the back of his head, He’s a Slytherin. It made Merlin’s skin burn. 

 “Please!” Hermione got her voice back under control, glancing warily up and down the corridor. “Just for a few days. You were really good with her — Harry and Ron don’t need to see you, even.”

Merlin looked down at his feet. He would like to spend more time with Norbert; he couldn’t deny that. And she had seemed so happy to see him…

“Alright,” Merlin said. His throat was hot and tight. 

Hermione’s relief almost made up for the twisting, lonely feeling in the pit of his stomach. Almost. 

* * *

 

Merlin spent his lunchtimes and evenings on Thursday and Friday with Norbert. Although Hagrid was adamant that he could handle Norbert alone, Merlin didn’t think he imagined the relief with which the groundskeeper greeted him each visit. Hagrid would plie Merlin with stoat sandwiches (not too bad, surprisingly) and tea (as strong and sweet as Merlin liked it), and then get on with his duties. Or, he would try to. Occasionally, Merlin would look up and see Hagrid standing in the doorway just... Watching, a spade in his hand dropping mud everywhere. 

“We’re alright in here,” Merlin said on one occasion, because he had to say something. 

“How d’you keep her so happy?” Hagrid asked. “′Caus if that’s a happy dragon then I’m doing summat wrong.” there were tears in his eyes as he spoke. 

Norbert, who had been lying on her side so Merlin could use her flank as a table, rolled over and looked at Merlin meaningfully. 

“You’re not a dragon,” Merlin said carefully. Hagrid frowned. 

“You ent a dragon either.”

“No,” Merlin agreed, unwilling to admit that his bond with Norbert perplexed him equally. He caught Norbert’s eye and gulped. Her frustration and wanderlust was so strong it made his chest ache. “But — she’s a wild creature of magic, Hagrid. She wants to fly the places her ancestors did.” 

Hagrid looked grimly out the window. “Norway’s different from here, I suppose.” He sniffed. “I just want to be a mummy to her, that’s all. But I’m doin’ it all wrong and now they’ve got to take her away.” 

Merlin’s stomach lurched. “No!” He knew this was coming, knew it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but he was unprepared for the icy chasm that opened up in his gut. 

“Tha’s what I said, but they’re right.” Hagrid wiped his eyes on a tea-towel. “′S like you said, she wants other dragons to play with. Think I knew I wouldn’t be good enough anyway — that’s just how it goes for me.”

“No,” Merlin said again. And then, more loudly. “No, it’s _not_ your fault. It’s everyone else, acting like dragons are animals and not trying to understand them.”

Norbert bristled in agreement and rubbed her head against Merlin’s leg. Hagrid just stared, exclaimed “Bless yeh heart!” and in one swift movement, dropped his shovel and pulled Merlin into a hug. He was far too large for Merlin to hug back properly, so Merlin just stuck out his arm and did his best to rub comforting circles into Hagrid’s side. 

When Hagrid pulled away, Merlin felt like Hagrid had crushed him — but a warm spark bloomed in his chest. Hagrid was smiling again. 

“Yeh’ll come down to say goodbye to her, won’t yeh?” he asked. Merlin looked into Norbert’s eyes when he answered. 

“Of course.” Then he paused, biting the inside of his lip. “And then I’ll see if I can stop Malfoy from spoiling everything.” 

Hagrid’s smile grew. 

* * *

 

That night, when almost everyone else had gone to bed, Morgana dropped onto the table in front of merlin. 

“A _dragon_?”

Merlin had a moment of panic, terrified that Malfoy had spread whispers, before he remembered: Morgana could pick up his thoughts. He shrugged. 

“It just happened.”

“But a _dragon_?” Morgana said again. “Merlin, you could wind up in so much trouble. I know your memory is selective with wizarding law, but surely you realise... And in Hagrid’s hut, a wooden hut. It won’t be big enough and then it’ll go up in flames—” 

“You should compare notes with Hermione. She had the same thought,” Merlin said with a grin. But Morgana wasn’t laughing. Her face looked pinched and pale. 

“Maybe Harry, Ron, and Hermione would get some leeway. Harry’s the Boy Who Lived — they won’t expel him — and they’re his friends. But you?” She shook her head, anger flaring in her eyes. “You’re in Slytherin. You’re a muggle-born. If they catch you mucking around with a dragon, it won’t be a light warning.” 

“If I don’t help, they’ll definitely get caught,” Merlin countered, his irritation flaring as it had never done before. Not with Morgana. “And then what? If anyone tries to take Norbert without her permission she’ll go mad, and then they’ll hurt her and I can’t fail another dragon. Not again.”

There was a long, tenuous beat of silence in which Merlin realised what he said. He felt like a rubber band; recently stretched and freshly snapped back into place. His foul temper vanished. 

“Again?” Morgana raised her eyebrows at him. Merlin’s ears burned with embarrassment and looked down at the fraying hem of his pyjama shirt. 

“I... I don’t,” Merlin started. Stopped. He didn’t have an explanation for that slip of the tongue. So he changed the subject. “It’s not much longer, anyway. Ron Weasley’s brother is taking her away tomorrow night.” 

Morgana eyed him narrowly. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Merlin decided not to answer that. 

* * *

 

Hermione relayed the plan to Merlin when they passed one another after breakfast. He impressed himself with his reaction — he didn’t cry, and he didn’t have hysterics. That was something. But he spent the day with a lead weight lodged in his stomach and pretended he didn’t feel well when Gwen and Lance asked if he wanted to feed the lake monster that evening. As soon as he was sure the two had gone back to the Hufflepuff common room, Merlin set out across the grounds. 

The walk to Hagrid’s hut felt longer than it had ever been before. Norbert stopped pulling on Hagrid’s beard when Merlin arrived and wheeled on him. She bared her fangs, knocking the legs out from Hagrid’s table with a lash of her tail, and advanced on Merlin with no sign of stopping. 

Merlin felt his magic flare — up through his chest it bubbled, along his arm and into his hand, which lifted of its own accord. Even his voice felt powerful as he said: “Stop.”

Norbert drew up short. Her nostrils flared and steam rose from them, but she didn’t eat his arm. 

With a shaking sigh, Merlin dropped his hand and knelt so he was level with Norbert’s eyes. He could feel the frustration and betrayal and fear coursing through her; it tasted like pre-storm air and concrete. She hissed

( _don’t want_ ) 

and tossed her head at the large crate. Merlin wasn’t sure if she was speaking the words herself, or if it was only his interpretation — but the meaning was clear enough. His throat felt thick with remorse. 

Merlin leant his head forward. He didn’t know what he was doing but, as his eyes closed, Norbert pressed her forehead against his. 

“You’ve got to get in the crate,” Merlin murmured. Norbert quivered. “You do it this once and then you’ll be able to fly. You’ll have loads of space.”

He sat back on his heels and watched as Norbert tucked herself into the crate, taking the teddy bear between her teeth. Hagrid beamed at Merlin through his tears once he’d closed the lid. 

“You’re a right wonder, you are.” Hagrid patted Merlin on the shoulder, nearly making his knees buckle. “I reckon yeh’ll be workin’ with Charlie Weasley if yeh keep this up. He’d be lucky t’ have yeh.” 

Merlin didn’t think he deserved the compliment. Not for this. He just nodded weakly and blinked away the burning in his eyes. 

When Harry and Hermione arrived, Merlin helped Hagrid lug the crate outside (not that Hagrid needed help). Harry eyed Merlin warily, but Hermione gave him a tight little smile. 

The three of them walked back to the castle. Not together — Harry didn’t offer Merlin a spot under the cloak, and Merlin wasn’t sure they’d all fit even if he had — but near enough that Merlin could hear Norbert shifting around. 

Merlin clung to the shadows, following the faint wisps of magic that he associated with Norbert as closely as he could. When the sounds of McGonagall and Malfoy reached him, Merlin dived into the shadows behind a tapestry. 

“Merlin?” Hermione whispered once the quiet had returned. He caught a sliver of her face, floating disembodied in the darkness; she looked unusually pale. 

“Here,” Merlin whispered back. 

“Would you help us instead, now Malfoy’s out of the way?” 

Harry started to disagree, but Hermione hushed him. Merlin nodded. He didn’t need any further encouragement. 

Not even Harry’s learned wariness of Slytherin could prevent the merriment once they reached the top of the tower. The only thing that stopped Merlin from whooping in joy was the total, eery stillness of the night and Norbert’s agitated thrashing. Ignoring Hermione’s shocked gasp, Merlin eased off the lid of the crate. 

“You can’t—” Harry looked like he would topple over in his panic, but Merlin just smiled and ran his hand under Norbert’s chin in the way she liked it. Then he pointed out at the vast expanse of land beneath them. 

“Look at that, Norbert,” he whispered. Norbert sat up onto her haunches inside the crate and gazed out at the night. Merlin could see the stars reflected in her wide, wondering eyes.

She chittered at him questioningly and unfurled her wings. Merlin shook his head. 

“Where you’re going’ll be even better,” he promised. There was a terrifying moment where he thought Norbert might launch herself from the tower anyway, but then she lowered her head and nudged it against his shoulder. They remained leaning against one another, the only sound Hermione’s panicky breaths, until four broomstick-riding figures emerged from the night. 

Nice and cheery as they were, Charlie Weasley’s friends couldn’t hide their surprise at seeing how easily Merlin worked with Norbert. One, a girl with short and spiky hair and a moving bowtruckle tattoo on her forearm, couldn’t stop staring. 

“You’re just a first year, yeah?” She asked. Merlin nodded as he took the harness from her slack hands and held it out to Norbert. “But you’re...” she didn’t seem to know what he was, but her voice trembled. Merlin couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt at that. 

“You have to get in this, Norbert,” Merlin said as calmly as he could. Norbert growled, a warning spiral of smoke trailing from her nostrils as she thrashed her head from side to side. Her heavy breaths steamed in the chill air. “You’ll get to see everything out there, it’ll almost be like flying.”

That got her attention. She fixed him with those young-old amber eyes and tilted her head. He could hear her pointed 

_(almost)_

as a tickle beneath his skull. 

“Think of it like practise then,” Merlin added, aware of Charlie’s friends all looking at each other with varying expressions of dismay. “You have to let us do this. Who d’you want to buckle you in?” 

Norbert pointed her snout deliberately at Harry and Hermione, and the three of them secured her in. She dangled between the two broomsticks, staring at their flammable tails with a baleful eye. 

“Don’t do it,” Merlin advised her. 

And then she was gone. 

Harry and Hermione were elated as they jogged down the stone staircase, but Merlin couldn’t join in. It had been no secret that they just wanted Norbert gone. Still, he wished they would show a bit more tact. Hagrid was heartsick and Merlin... 

Merlin didn’t know what he was feeling. 

Anxiety gnawed at his stomach, but there was something else. Something deeper. 

He was still trying to puzzle out this niggling sensation of failure when he tripped over Mrs Norris. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or want to chat (or screech incoherently) feel free to come to [**my Tumblr**](http://concerningwolves.tumblr.com), where I ramble about all things writerly.


End file.
